


The Hitman's Peach

by Allswellthatends



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Attempted Suicide, Biting, Blood, Bondage, Breathplay, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Conditioning, Dom/sub, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gang Wars, Impact Play, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, Like very very dark, Minor Character Death, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual Spanking, Not Beta Read, Orgasm Denial, Orgy, Oswald and OC are childhood friends, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, Spanking, Suicide Attempt, Victor is a full sadist, Zsasz is a kinky fuck who can't be stopped, as a treat, but he still makes milkshakes, just a little bit of a daddy kink, very dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29119881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allswellthatends/pseuds/Allswellthatends
Summary: She was the one that got out, left the Narrows for a better life, a college education, the whole shebang.Too bad.Sasha Astrov was doomed the moment she stepped foot back in the most damned city in the Northeast. First there was her older sister who took the wrong job. Second there was a hitman who took a little too much of a liking to her. And third, there was the fact that they seemed to overlap, throwing her into an underground that would eat her alive.Good thing the hitman had no intention of sharing.--Zsasz/OC fic that I've been working on for a few months. It's very dark and I cannot stress enough that Victor is *not nice*. Dub con due to situation and will warn in Notes before anything happens. Tags will be added if needed. Sorta beta'd. Added the Rape/Non-Con tag as the non-con elements get more sexual. By the time actual things happen it's more dubious then very enthusiastic, just want to be clear and safe!
Relationships: Victor Zsasz/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 46





	1. Peach Candies and Dinner Booths

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooooo most of this is already written (I'm estimating around 15/20 chapters) and wow it is a ride. This is pure fun, smut, and violence. Sometimes all at once! If you don't like this kinda thing then pls don't read! I know it's a niche market lol
> 
> I'll be trying to upload weekly! Enjoy!

I fucking hated Gotham. 

I hated the grey streets and the nut jobs. I hated the stink of the river and the rolled eyes of the upper crust. The city was a black hole, meant to suck you into whatever shitstorm was whirling that week. But I’d promised myself I’d be different. I wouldn’t get caught in the shitstorm. I would break the chain. And I did for a moment, a fleeting, foolish, chimerical moment. 

When I got accepted to Barnett University in Vermont, I swore to myself I’d never come back. I would get my degree, take a job anywhere else, build a life anywhere else. But sometimes things don’t work out the way we want them to and you get stuck on a train back to the hellhole of the east. 

My hand was taut white from holding onto the letter from my sister-- she rarely paid her phone bill, so letters were more likely to reach her-- admonishing me then telling me to come back. Her curvy, quick hand made my stomach do little flips. What kind of life had she led all alone there? She loved Gotham, loved the decay and the decadence that came with not giving a single fuck. 

_ Sash,  _

_ It’s good to hear from you, just like it’s good to hear from a tick in my shoe. Kidding. Kinda. Sorry about your troubles finding a gig. I could’ve told you that would be a bitch with that degree, but hey, letters got lost in the mail, right? Why couldn’t you have been a doctor? We could be rolling in money then. But you always did faint at the sight of blood. Come back, stay for a bit, do whatever. I’m busy with work and you’ll have to feed yourself. Maybe I can finally teach you something useful. Pick up salt on your way, I’m almost out.  _

_ See you soon,  _

_ Nat _

I read it again, trying to suss out if she really would be pissed to see me or if she was just being  _ Natalia.  _ It had been a solid two years since I last saw her, when Dad kicked it. 

I dared to pay a cab to take me home, right on the border of the Narrows, and he dropped me a few streets away from where I asked, but I didn’t argue. As my hand touched the door handle I hesitated, maybe my time away had left me soft, vulnerable. A part of me wondered if I could reanimate that girl again, the one who knew the streets like the back of her hand, who could hide in a moment's notice, who could tell friend from foe. Country life was different, there were no guns getting pointed in your face bi-weekly, no threats of violence on the daily, no nut jobs trying to blow up the entire city every few months. I hated more than anything that I had to go back, empty pockets, and head down. At least my parents weren’t around, at least it’d just be us-- I couldn’t bear the look on my Dad’s face, all his teasing, his jibes, and in the end he was right. 

Then I could buckle down and think of a plan to get out, to hitch the road and never look back. I could break the chain Gotham puts on you at birth. I could do it. I could. 

“Well I’ll be damned.” Natalia said as she held open the rusty door, her shiny dark blonde hair reflecting off the dim bulb above emanating a film noir glow around her thin limbs. The hallway was barely lit behind me, like I was coming from the depths of hell into the waiting room that made up purgatory. Her eyes were dark and furrowed, a fly on the wall wouldn’t have been able to tell that we hadn’t seen each other in two years, let alone that we were sisters. So I stood there silent, huddling in my rain boots and oversized sweater that failed to keep out the autumn chill. 

Not much had changed in the little apartment over the past four years, it was still covered in fabric, her ancient Singer sewing tablet framed just in front of the TV, with a permanent smoking ashtray. I could even smell the Sleepytime tea left to brew too long on her kitchen counter. Painfully familiar, it stirred a jolt in my chest-- guilt. 

“So the prodigy decided to come back home.” She crossed her arms over her stained t-shirt. “All that fresh air become too much for ya?” 

“Hi Nat.” I muttered, looking down at my two ratty suitcases, shame colored my cheeks. It’d been seven years, in that time I’d been home maybe three times-- twice for funerals. I was an expert at making up excuses to not step foot in Gotham. Nat knew that well, I’d learned how to lie from her. 

“Sasha, Sasha.” She tutted, letting me in without another glance. I could smell the familiar heat of the iron mixing with cigarettes-- Virginia Slims-- the remnants of our parents' tailoring business settled around the room. “So, you didn’t really say in that letter what brings you back.” 

I shrugged nonchalantly, the same way Dad always did. “What can I say? Home sweet, home.” 

Snorting, Natalia passed me. “Liar. You’re out of money.” She sat down at her machine and plopped a fresh one in her mouth, lighting it with her red zippo. It looked like she was working on a suit jacket, made of tight knit wool, lined with grey stripes. “It’s always money.” 

“It wasn’t always money.” I muttered, sitting down at the kitchen table and shrugging my sweater off over my head. “Sometimes I just missed this hell hole. And you.” That was a bad lie. 

“Aw, you’ve come back cause you missed me? I’m tickled.” She said, bored, as she started up the machine, Nat’s way of saying  _ conversation over.  _ I glanced out the foggy window at the crowded tenement buildings, the streetlights swayed with the rain in their own pathetic lightshow. It was always a nice distraction and I let my mind wander as I played with a hold in my sweater. “Is that a hole?” 

I looked back at her as she sighed. 

“Throw it in the pile.” She said quickly and I smiled, finally feeling an ounce of warmth under her classic hostility.

Pushing myself up I tossed the red hunk of wool over to her project pile, the plastic basket covering the blood stain we were never able to get out. But I didn’t dwell and got to work looking for coffee makings. I found the yellow tub of cheap tar under the sink, just where it always was. Turning on the stove I watched as the flames danced, only to be covered by the bottom of our percolator. “I came back home because I had to. I’ll be out of your hair soon.” 

“Good. Can’t have kids lurking around my shit.” Natalia huffed, but her head cock to the side with a small grin. 

“Good thing I’m a grown ass person.” 

“Well a grown ass person can pay rent, then.” 

“I’ll look for something temporary.” I conceded pouring the grounds in, my stomach growled but I wasn’t in the mood to piss her off more by rummaging through her cupboards. 

“Put something dumb on, will you?” Natalia nodded to the TV and I fished the remote from under her scrap pile, clicking through the limited channels we could grab with our makeshift antenna. “Hey, Sash.” Natalia whispered behind me. It ignited a memory-- us sitting in front of the machine as our mom worked, she braided my hair over and over again, needing to do something with her hands, whispers, jokes, secrets. 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s good to see you.” 

She had kept my room the same, pretty barren except for the giant  _ Jane Eyre  _ poster from my school play at Gotham P.S. 121 (the 3rd worst middle school in Gotham) and the small table of knick knacks I hadn’t thrown out or taken with me. 

A few polaroid pictures littered the side of my window-- amazingly still hanging onto the scotch tape behind them-- which opened to a rusted fire escape. Faces stood out on the sun faded squares, rounder and brighter and alive-- Nat frowning at the Gotham Zoo with sunglasses and a cigarette at 15 (flicking off the camera), Mom hemming my dress for the one dance my school ever had (it was dark blue, like the color of bruises), Dad dressed up as Santa jokingly shaking his fist at the camera (if Santa smoked cigars and carried brass knuckles), a tiny boy standing next to me on our first day of sixth grade (his black hair flying every which way no matter how much his Mother patted it down). When I was a kid I used to risk death to sit outside and read or draw as that boy-- my only friend at the time-- laid backwards on my bed, complaining about our “stupid ingrate classmates.” The memory made me smile. 

After unpacking my meager belongings I sat down at the end of the bed and watched the rain again. Praying-- hoping, that some miracle would happen to turn my life down a new path. 

But you know what they say-- be careful what you wish for, it just might come true and bite you in the ass. 

I laid in bed and watched as the morning light danced off the little glass figures sitting on my desk, barely having slept through the sounds of the city. My mom had loved them, some were animals, some little humans. I particularly always loved the dancers, so delicate and graceful.

“It fits nice.” A man’s voice pulled my attention, muffled through the thin walls. “The Boss’ll be happy.” 

“Check out this--” Natalia said, I could hear the pride in her voice, like a cat collecting her cream. “You can keep anything in here and nothing will be detected, a phone, a gun, a key… Fucking  _ anything _ .” She whispered the last word seductively. 

“Jeez, just pay the woman.” Another man growled, a brush of jealousy waving through his voice. “We’ll let you know the Boss’s next order.” I heard them shuffling with money. 

“The wool was more than I initially quoted, I had to pay off  _ his _ tailor’s supplier to get the exact pattern.” Nat said, I could almost hear the cross of her arms and the bored glare in her eyes. 

“It ain’t traceable to you, is it?” The jealous man asked. 

“I’m not an idiot, Murry.” 

“Never said you were, sweets.” More money shuffling. “If everything today goes as planned, we can get you outta this shit hole and into a proper shop.” 

“Every girl’s dream.” Nat crooned with faux excitement. “Now get out, my kid sister just got home and I don’t need her nose in this.” 

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll get outta your hair. Talk soon.” And then the door opened and closed. Natalia let out a loud sigh. 

I swung my feet out over the side of the bed and relished the familiar carpet under my feet. Maybe I did really miss home, I thought blandly, shaking my head. No--I hate it here. I’m leaving. I’m not becoming another wasted life under the bridges. 

Pushing into the hallway, I rounded the corner. 

“Ah! Shit.” Nat yelped. “I thought you were still asleep, kiddo.” 

“Who were those guys?” I asked calmly, not really caring as I brushed past her into the kitchen for a glass of water. 

“What did you hear?” She asked, her usual tact missing. 

“I don’t know, I wasn’t listening.” I said quickly. It was only a partial lie. 

“Customers. Now, what's on your agenda today?” She moved to her machine, I noticed that the jacket she’d worked on till the wee hours of the morning was not there, the one with the grey stripes. 

As I drank my shoulders shrugged. “I thought I’d go to the library and there are some applications I filled out on the train that I have to drop at the post office.” She nodded, but was not listening, already absorbed in her new project. I yawned and stretched, leaving her to go to the bathroom and freshen up. 

The library in our neighborhood was pathetic, underfunded, and dingy. At least Clara, the old bat librarian, was still the same with her little peach flavored candies. With one cataract eye she winked at me and tossed me a few, only to tsk when my reflexes weren’t fast enough. I gathered the three round candies in a small triangle next to my bag before I finally gave in and plopped one in my mouth. It was odd, how I could be gone for so long and in one day I’d fallen right back into the cog of my childhood neighborhood. Those in the Narrows don’t forget and they take care of their own. 

Soon my mind dazed, unstimulated and bored. Nothing interesting or helpful stood out to me as I flicked through the books in front of me. I just wanted something to excite me, set me on edge-- a stupid impulse I’d been fighting for years. Subconsciously, I might have avoided Gotham due to the ease of recklessness in the dark corners of the city. I flicked another page over and tried to focus on the words to distract myself. 

I hadn’t gotten my blood boiling in too long, it was like an itch, like a drug, the thrill of chance, danger-- but I pushed that thought right out of my head. Asking for trouble in Gotham was like asking to be part of the bourgeoisie in France in 1791. Deadly and usually, dramatically so. My pen twisted in my mouth as I thought of the last time I felt a real rush. It was spring, out on dirt roads, hot air pressing hard into my cheeks as we gained speed, I was on the back of Ryan Lorn’s motorcycle, going 80mph and I put my hands up to the sky, felt the pressure and threat of it all swarm around me. It wasn’t like a drug, it  _ was  _ a drug, and I revelled in it. Maybe I was more a Gothamite than I liked to admit. 

Instead of being an idiot to get the itch off, I walked myself over to an old trailer diner to get some food, the taste of candied peaches still on my tongue.  _ Betty Ban’s Diner. _ The teal and pink facade was dented and faded, an old joint, and I’d spent many a day after school there. 

As the door opened a bell rang lightly, trickling through the empty vinyl seats. “Hey there, sweetie pie.” A woman in her late fifties and a matching uniform-- a bit faded to match the exterior-- greeted. “Just one?” I didn’t remember her from before, the old bitty who used to be in charge might have died or retired. I didn’t care enough to ask. 

“Yes, please.” I followed her down the aisle to a window booth and smiled in thanks at the great seat. I was a little late for the lunch crowd, which I preferred, not needing to run into anyone I used to know. I took out the two remaining candies and my book--  _ The Idiot _ , a new translation. Then glanced at the menu, already knowing what I was going to order. It was a foggy day, as usual, and I pulled my cardigan over my shoulders tightly. It was patched at least a million times, I’d found it under my bed in a box-- it was Moms before, her signature stitch clear on the mismatched fabrics.  _ Find the beauty in the ugly, sweet sauce,  _ she’d say as Dad turned his nose up at her odd creations, much preferring to pretend he had class. Luckily, Nat had her same affinity for scrappy creativity. 

“What’ll it be?” The waitress asked again, stealing my attention. Her name tag said Jan,  _ fitting _ . 

“Can I get a coffee, french toast with a side of bacon and cream cheese?” I folded the menu and handed it to her. 

“Sure thing, coming right up.” She trotted away and I opened my book, wanting to hit myself on the head. Russian Literature. What. An. Idiot. What kind of college LETS someone major in something so useless? But I did love the stories, the anger bubbling like champagne, the calm of a hurricane eye that sat below the surface of each sentence, each sneer, each kiss. Everyone was so trapped-- by those around them, by the winter, by forces unknown and beyond their control or nature. The plea was common,  _ love me, save me, hate me, kill me,  _ the flaws making each character and plot its own illuminating shattered mirror. A broken reflection was all we got. 

The bell rang again. 

I looked up to see a group of three men walk in, all dressed in black coats. The one in front caught my eye. From behind he was the tallest, his shoulders squared confidently as he looked around. He was bald, not even a trace of hair atop his head, and had placed his hands on his hips, looking round as if he’d lost a child. 

As the room stilled, he whistled a simple two tone. 

“Hiiii!” He chirped. The waitress froze with the coffee pot in her hand, her eyes going wide. “Now, we’re looking for Rodney Bianchi. As soon as he comes forward, we’ll be on our merry way.” He over exaggerated each word with a playground glee that sent shivers down my sides. Turning my way, I noticed he didn’t have eyebrows either and wondered briefly what the word for that was-- I was a bit distracted to recall it. His wide eyes kept scanning the room not landing on anyone in particular. A fleeting thought trickled through my head that he was oddly attractive, but the hair on my arms stood tall and I discarded that thought quickly. 

There weren’t many other people there, only a couple on the other side, and a family behind them. “Oh, Rodney. If you don’t come out, bad things are gonna happen.” It was like he  _ wanted  _ bad things to happen. 

_ Ding. _ The order bell reverberated throughout the room and everyone visibly flinched. 

His eyes moved to the window, and he pointed to his ear, motioning to remove something. “You shouldn’t listen to music while cooking, what if there was an emergency?” He scolded then looked at the waitress and motioned with his gun. “Welllllll, we don’t want your patrons to go hungry.” He waved with his gun. 

Jan picked up the plate with both hands and turned towards me.  _ Of fucking course,  _ I cursed in my head. She moved slowly, her steps shaky as she set the plate down in front of me.

“Thanks.” I whispered, trying to tell her with my eyes to not be afraid, trying to be strong. I looked down at the neatly placed french toast, three pieces of bacon and the side of cream cheese placed perfectly above them. It was so simple, just what I wanted, but my mouth was too dry to even think about enjoying it. 

The bald man strolled up to my table and looked down at my food. He placed his one hand over his stomach and rubbed. “Ooo, that looks good. Eat up, buttercup.” 

I looked up at him quizzically, his eyes were dark and intent, like a shark. With an annoyed gusto I unwrapped the silverware, taking the fork I ripped off a piece of the toast and used the knife to get some cream cheese on it. He watched me, following my every move. For a moment I wondered if I stabbed him what would happen-- I mean, I knew what would happen.  _ Bang, bang.  _ But it was still a fun idea, I could do it quickly, with one swift movement of the dull diner fork and  _ smash _ his right eye. Then he would stop looking at me like I was on the plate. 

Instead I did as told, the familiar flavor filled my mouth as I looked down to put my fork back on the napkin. 

“Cream cheese on french toast?” He asked as he leaned on the table with one elbow, smiling, and using his gun to point in his other hand. They were gloved, somehow making him even more menacing. But his face was light, as if he was asking me which direction the museum was in. 

“Yes.” I answered, raising my chin to match him with a glare. 

He pressed his lips together and squinted slightly. “Can I try it?” 

I felt my mouth drop open slightly. That was not what I was expecting. Not at all. Regaining some composure-- after watching him smirk, as if pleased--I nodded. 

He set his gun down and reached over me to grab my fork-- the fork I’d just used-- his arm dangerously close to my face, but I dared not move even if my eyes darted to his gun. He smelled good, like expensive cologne and something burning-- cigarettes? No, that's not it. The fork ripped off another edge of the french toast and smeared it over the cream cheese without using the knife. I watched as he plopped it in his mouth, taking his time to slide it off the fork and savor before he chewed, his gaze directly at me. I was half afraid if he didn’t like it, that he’d shoot me dead. 

“Hm.” He noised at first. “Hmmm.” I felt a fresh panic rise in me as his eyes darkened, a threat skimming the surface. With effort I tried to cover it up, but it was annoyingly plain on my face-- I was never good at hiding how I felt in times of stress, but I was even more out of practice. Any girl raised in the Narrows worth her salt shouldn’t shake when faced with a gunman. But I felt like melted sugar, useless. “Hmm. That is good.” 

I exhaled, feeling my body relax into the booth slightly, to which he wriggled his naked brows and leaned down a little more onto the table. Setting the fork back down on my plate, I was unnerved and with a flash of bravado I grabbed it in my fist. His eyes widened with interest, as if waiting to see what I would dare to do. 

“Rodney.” He called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off me as he picked up his gun. “Now, I’m gonna ask you one more time. Or--” He repositioned it, setting the barrel right in front of my face as he lolled his head back. “Or it's going to get messy in here. Blood is very hard to get out of vinyl, you know. And we don’t want--” Turning to Jan he asked “--what’s your name tag say?” 

“Jan.” I answered and his head snapped back to me. “Her name is Jan.” 

Smirking he continued. “We don’t want Jan up all night scrubbing-- what’s  _ your  _ name, doll?” 

I swallowed, but squared my shoulders. “Sasha.” 

“--scrubbing  _ Sasha _ ’s blood out? Now, do we? Jan works hard enough as it is.” He slurred my name playfully and bile rose in my throat. 

The barrel filled my vision and my arms tensed-- I dropped the fork with a clang-- tears swelled in the corner of my eyes, threatening to escape with just one more exhale. No, no, no, no. I screamed inside, just my luck to get killed by some nutjob the second I’m home. 

He looked back at me, tsking. “Come on, Rodney, you’re making the poor girl cry.” He whined, the gun lightly touching my forehead, I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he examined me, waiting. I’d never been that afraid in my life and I grew up in the fucking  _ Narrows _ . At least I thought I’d never been that afraid, until the cold barrel brushed over the side of my forehead and trailed down my cheek like a caress. He pursed his lips slightly as he rounded it up to my bottom lip, pressing into it. His patient smirk set off something deep inside me-- something I really wanted to shut the fuck up-- but I didn’t dare to move. Finally he moved it down, scraping it over my neck and sternum then under my left breast and coming to rest right above it. Right on the heart. I kept his gaze as a tear dripped off the point of my chin. 

Another second passed. I shook violently as I tried to still my breathing. In an attempt to calm my heartbeat under the gun I fixed my attention on his pale cheek, trying to gauge any split moment of reaction to let me know if he was bluffing-- or if he was going to pull the trigger. As soon as my vision started to blur from the tears he glanced back at me, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly. 

“Okay, okay.” A man’s voice sounded from the corner booth. “It’s me. Don’t hurt the girl.” 

“Rodney.” The bald man greeted like a satisfied housecat. He moved the gun and I exhaled roughly, bracing my hands on the metal table. When I finally looked back up he was still standing there, holding out my napkin with a gloved hand. I took it carefully and wiped under my eyes as he nodded slightly. 

Before he turned away he scanned the table and spotted the two other peach candies I’d taken out of my pocket sitting next to my phone. He grabbed one and winked, pocketing it as he strolled away. 

“Time to go, go, go.” He sang. The two men who’d come in with him grabbed the gruff man. 

“Just promise my wife and kids will be okay.” He begged as they pulled him out the door. 

“Not for me to decide, Rodney.” He smiled again. “And on that note, later folks! I appreciate your cooperation. Tip your waitress!” He bowed in the doorway, stopping briefly to turn his head to look at me. “See ya round, doll.” 

I sat there staring at the suddenly empty doorway as the bell rang again. All I could think was: What the fuck just happened? What in the everloving fuck was that? Did Gotham get even MORE insane? 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God.” Jan whimpered, bracing herself on the counter as she muttered more prayers. The woman who was with the gruff man passed by quickly, shuffling two kids out without another word. I pitied them, if there was one thing the bald man screamed, it was  _ killer _ and I’d bet he had no qualms about killing families if asked. I picked up the fork again, wondering if I had just had the guts to do something, maybe those kids wouldn’t have watched their Dad walk out that door. Admonishing myself again, I rubbed my face and re-piled my hair on the top of my head, tugging at the knots until it sat tentatively smooth. I was no hero and at the end of the day, I was far too selfish to die for someone I didn’t know. 

I really was a Gothamite through and through. 

“I’m calling the GCPD.” Another patron yelled, yanking me from my thoughts. 

“They’ll never come down here!” 

The cook scoffed out of sight. “He’s already gone, man.” 

But he was already on his phone. “That was Victor Fucking Zsasz, I’m calling the god damn police.” 


	2. Welcome to Your New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha and Natalia have a houseguest of the worst kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for violence, guns, slapping. 
> 
> **
> 
> Posting now b/c I'm excited and couldn't wait. I'll most likely post more than once a week! 
> 
> Also I'm working on a Regency Zsasz fic (after watching Bridgerton, I was like ... what if?) Let me know if anyone would be interested in reading something like that! Thanks for the love!

As the sun went down, I walked home on shaking legs. All I could think about was the bald man. Victor Zsasz. They said his name like everyone knew exactly who he was. There was an air about him, like a predator waiting to strike. The moment he entered the diner, everything froze and vibrated at the same time. Every instinct went off, screaming  _ danger, danger. _ But the ease in which he spoke, moved, and ordered others about was oddly infatuating. The same way True Crime podcasts could keep you listening for hours or shark week kept your eyes glued to the screen awaiting the inevitable carnage. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was like I was dropped in the middle of the ocean and could feel him like that shark, moving around and around as I treaded water, tiring, waiting-- almost praying-- that he’d drag me down and end it. 

Wandering into the apartment like a zombie, I found Natalia stirring instant noodles at the stove, her sweater wrapped around her waist and her hair in a high messy bun like my own. 

“Where have you been?” She asked, not looking up. 

“Out.” 

“Where’s out? Auntie Gerty stopped by asking about you.” 

I winced, like I always did when Nat mentioned Gertrude in her letters-- Mom’s best friend, a total kook, too much like her. “I kinda got stuck in a raid of sorts.” 

“Welcome home.” She snorted. “Who was it this time? GCPD!” Nat took her spoon and pointed it like a gun, mocking. 

“Victor Zsasz, actually.” I said over my shoulder only to hear the spoon clatter and hit the floor. “Nat?” Turning I saw her standing there frozen. Nat never showed fear, she was an expert at diversion, at hiding such emotions under her  _ could give a shit  _ facade. “What’s wrong?” 

“What did he want? Where were you?” She crossed her arms in a poor attempt to hide her outburst, to shove the fear back down again, but I could see her panic brimming over the side. It was the shine in her eyes, something I hadn’t seen since Mom died. 

“Um, the diner down the road. He was looking for someone named Rodney.” 

Natalia went white as a sheet and rushed past me. 

“Whoa, whoa, what’s going on?” I followed her into my room as she flicked on the one lamp near the door, leaving the rest of the room in darkness, the ceiling light having gone out years ago. But she wouldn’t answer, she just whipped out my old duffle and started to throw my things in it haphazardly. “Nat, you’re really starting to scare me. What is going on?” 

“Pack, we have to leave Gotham.” When I didn’t move she pushed me towards the duffle. “Now, Sasha!” She brushed past me but I followed her to her room, yelling for her to wait. Her hands flayed out, frantic, as she searched for things to pack, going under a floorboard for a rubberband of cash. 

“Why? What’s going on?” She looked at me for just a moment but that was all it took. My voice dropped. “What did you do?” 

“I needed to make ends meet, okay?” She almost cried, the cracking of her voice breaking something inside me. “Dad left a lot of debt that, apparently, his death did not absolve us from.” She raised her voice, covering her fear with anger. “You took your little ass off to  _ college _ to do something useless and left me here. Alone. So you do not get to judge me for making an impossible decision.” 

I nodded, feeling the sting like a fresh slap. “So what did you do?” 

“I did some work for Maroni, something I shouldn’t have done. But I didn’t know what it was for before this morning and even then I just guessed and I-- it was too much money to say no.” She dropped the roll of cash as if it burned. “If Zsasz finds me, Sash, he’ll kill me, he’ll kill you and not blink twice. He works for Falcone who does not fuck around. Not to mention he’s a goddamn psychopath.” She babbled, closing her suitcase. “So pack your shit. Now.” 

I nodded and went back to my room, pushing more of my stuff in the already tossed together duffle. Without thinking I walked over to the desk and grabbed the little glass ballerina and wrapped it up in three socks so it wouldn’t break. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I whispered under my breath, pushing back my flyaways as I stared at the bursting zipper, trying to think of what to do. As I closed my eyes his sharky glare stared at me-- the way he pursed his lips like he was waiting for me to impress him, the smell of his cologne and the burning… “Fuck me, fuck meeeeeeeee.”

“Such a dirty mouth.” That familiar voice said from the dark corner of my room. I stilled instantly, feeling ice run down my spine. “With a mouth like that, well, it’s funny that you look like a freshly picked Georgia peach. I’d expect someone a little more  _ hardcore,  _ ya know?” 

I looked up to see him step into the dim light. Victor Zsasz. Standing like a momentarily tamed panther in front of my dingy lavender curtains. He’d ditched the leather coat and stood in his completely black suit-- including the shirt, his body like a black hole, void of any color or light-- his gloved hands were clasped in front of him and his head cocked slightly to the side. I could see a gun holster under the suit jacket, shining silver in the lamplight. 

“Shh.” He held a finger up to his mouth as he walked towards me slowly, calculating his steps to make the least amount of noise. 

“Please-- I--” I sputtered quietly as he rounded the edge of the bed and came next to me. 

“Shush, shush, peach.” He hovered his finger over my lips. “Living room, please.” He stood so close to me I could almost feel the wave of power coming off him, one misstep, one complaint and a bullet would be soundly in my head. I hesitated, daring to glance at him, my head barely reached his shoulder, and I felt immeasurably small. He tilted his chin down and whispered: “I reallllly don’t like having to ask twice.” 

Taking a deep breath-- that cologne again filling my nose-- I scurried away from his gaze and braced myself on the wall as I walked into the living room. 

“Natalia!” He sang. “Come out, come out wherever you are!” 

I heard Natalia scream bloody murder in her room and rush out, holding a switch knife in front of her like it would do something. Once again, Victor held his gun towards me and she stopped, throwing her hands up, the knife falling to the floor forgotten. 

“Please, please don’t hurt her.” She begged as sobs spilled down her cheeks. “Please, it was just me.” 

“Oh, I know that.” He dismissed causally. “Baby sister just got home. Recipient of the Martha Wayne Humanities Scholarship to somewhere far far away. How unfortunate that she couldn’t stay away.” Zsasz tilted his head again, looking directly at me as I tried to keep my eyes fixed on the far wall, forcing my head to think of a way out of this mess. “Now, Natalia. You know what you did can’t be ignored. Not as long as you’re making these coats for Maroni.” 

“It was only a few. I swear.” Natalia begged, getting down on her knees. “Please don’t hurt her.” 

“Who said I’d hurt her?” He asked, almost offended. Then he sucked his teeth and shrugged. “Well, I guess you do have a point.” Taking a few more steps to the side he came closer to me, the cold barrel pressed into my forehead and instinctively raised my hand to-- do something, I wasn’t sure and regretted the movement immediately. “Ah, ah, ah.” He smirked, quietly amused, as his other hand pushed it down and grasped my upper arm, holding me in the same spot. I thanked God that I hadn’t taken my cardigan off, his leather clad hand slipped up and down the fabric instead of digging into my bare skin, but he just gripped tighter-- almost cutting off my circulation.

“You, Natalia, have a talent. And trust me, I understand the whole ‘if you’re good at it, charge for it’ thing. Look at what I do for a living, right?” He leaned toward her slightly like it was all an inside joke. “So, now you get a chance to prove yourself to a new Boss.” 

Natalia looked up, confused. “What?” 

“You’re a wizard, sweet pea! These nifty things-- you can hide anything in them, maybe even some bullet proof armor. Guns, documents, drugs, the sky's the limit. Hell, Maroni’s men got a whole  _ bomb _ into Fish’s apartment today.” He shook his head, smiling. “Can’t wait for my set, personally. Don Falcone wants to know that limit. Even if you did help to get his dear friend almost killed earlier with a suit jacket meant for him.” He scowled like he was admonishing a child. “So grab your things. Chop, chop! He’s got a little workshop set up and ready to rumble.” 

“What about Sasha?” Natalia asked, standing and staring at me. Her face was drained of life, too exhausted to try any more. The acceptance of her fate was washing over each nerve. 

I was not giving up so easily. 

“What about  _ Sasha? _ ” He repeated, letting me go, I stumbled to the side with my momentum from pulling in his grip. “What do you do, Sasha?” The gun tweaked at me as I glanced at Natalia. 

“I--uh-- I--” I stuttered, unable to form a full thought. “School.”

“Full sentences, peach.” He motioned with his hand. 

“I just finished school, majoring in Russian Literature.” I finally said, my voice shaking. 

Zsasz suppressed a laugh. “Pretty useless, don’t you think?” 

“Yes.” I answered automatically, tears once again filling my eyes. His narrowed at that. 

“If she’s useless, then I see no reason to drag her along to the Don. Can you think of a reason, peach?” It took me a moment to realize he was still talking to me. Again calling me  _ peach. _ It felt intimate in a way I didn’t like, as if with each utterance another string was being wrapped around my throat. I glowered at him, anger attempting to step on the fear. 

Struggling again, I opened my mouth and nothing but nonsense came out. “I don’t-- I don’t know--” 

The gun pressed into my forehead again and I heard Natalia scream. But it was his face that filled up my vision behind it, his wide dark eyes like pools of an abyss. “Then there really is no reason to keep you.” 

“No.” I whispered, feeling at the edge of the precipice again, like the motorcycle only worse. 

He jerked his head back--controlled and precise-- surprise filling his eyes. With his moment of hesitance I decided to act, knowing I had a slim chance of getting out alive to begin with. My hands shot up and grabbed the barrel of the gun, pushing it back-- like I was taught by Dad-- as I shoved my whole body weight towards him and twisted to dislodge the weapon from his grip. I felt it slip for a moment and a flash of victory bolted through me-- until his other hand grabbed my hair and sharply  _ yanked _ back. I screamed as the roots tried to rip from my scalp, my hands instinctively moving to the source of pain. 

He said nothing, but I could feel his breath on my ear and the thumping of his heart in his chest as he held my head awkwardly to the side. I waited to hear the gunshot, to feel it rip through my flesh and bleed me out on the floor. Just another bloodstain that can’t be washed out. 

_ They’ll have to replace the carpet now _ , was the only thought to trickle through my mind. 

But he didn’t shoot. With all his force he threw me towards the window and my shoulder slammed into the paint chipped pane. 

Zsasz smiled wildly. “You know--” He started lightly, but all I could do was stare at the wall. “I can think of a use for you.” 

I looked at him, confused, with anger bleeding around the edge of my fear once again. Why was he fucking with us? But I could see the ever present amusement behind his eyes, which somehow made my fear burn even brighter. 

He put the gun down. “In order to make sure you two behave, she’ll go to her workshop and you, peach, are going to come home with me for a while. Let's call it, insurance.” His head flourished back to Natalia. 

“What?” Nat and I balked at the same time, she stepped towards him in a burst of protectiveness. 

“Stay.” He pointed his gun at her only to turn his face back on me. “You heard me. What do you say?” 

“No-- I can’t-- what?” I huddled against the wall, but he followed, closing the space between us until I pressed into the window frame, the edge set against my spine. 

Zsasz’s face was inches from mine as he studied me again. “Because otherwise, I’ll just shoot you. I mean, you did try to take something that wasn’t yours.” Leather covered fingers gripped my chin, turning my head to look him dead in the eyes. “Or I’ll just do it anyway, but I’d like to hear you say  _ yes.  _ Can we do that? _ ”  _

His eyes were wild and intent at the same time, his nose almost brushing mine. I felt something heat in my stomach and cursed myself, no-- not him. 

“Yes.” I breathed, a little airier than I would have liked. He smiled again, having noticed. 

Letting go of me abruptly, I grabbed at the wall for support. “Good. Get your stuff, ladies. I’ll wait here. No rush.” 

Natalia came to me and took my arm, she let me go to my room without a word. All I had to do was grab the duffle, it was packed, he’d watched me until I was done. My hands were shaking. I held them out in front of me, willing them to stop. It worked, a little. Then I spent five minutes staring at that  _ Jane Eyre  _ poster, thinking about the stage lights burning bright in my eyes as I stood in the auditorium, frozen in place, fear decimating my nerves, I felt like I couldn’t breathe-- until my body finally shocked me into action. His eyes caused the same sensation-- but they were much harder to break out of than a few yellow lights.

Finally I took a deep breath and carried the duffle out, shutting off my light. 

I stood in the living room, looking at my feet as I felt his eyes land on me. 

“You can stop acting like a scared kitten, you know. I’m not going to kill you... tonight.” He teased, clasping his hands behind him. 

I met his eyes and set my mouth into a hard line. 

“We’ll see how long that lasts.” He pointed a glove finger at me, leaving me with more questions than answers. I really didn’t want to know what that meant.

Natalia finally came out into the room with her suitcase and he opened the apartment door, where five men stood. We were never going to get out of there, I realized. 

“Come, come ladies. Your chariots await.” Zsasz waved us through, his hand brushing over my back for a moment, causing a jolt to run through me. Fear, panic, who knew? “Hurry now.” He whispered in my ear, making me flinch again. 

We walked through the building and out to the street. As I passed the door I saw two of the men pushing Natalia into a car. 

“Nat!” I called, but Zsasz’s hand was around my wrist-- tightly enough to bruise-- and he yanked me towards a black sports car. “Nat!!” 

“Sash!” I heard her scream as they closed the door. 

“No-- no, please-- let me--” I pulled at his grip only for him to whip me around with my encased wrist behind my back. My shoulder screamed in pain and I gasped. 

He was right behind me, walking me in sure strokes to the passenger’s side. “Now, peach. Get in, can you do that without any trouble?” 

My mouth hung open in pain as the needles shot through my arm. “Yes.” 

He opened the door and pushed me in, leaning over me to buckle my seatbelt before closing the door quickly. Soon my bag was deposited in the trunk and he was in the driver's seat zooming down the street, away from the Narrows. I could barely catch my breath, wondering if I would ever see Natalia again. I tried to not focus on him as he wove through the cars around us, but there was nothing else to focus on. So I scolded myself instead, thinking I was an adrenaline junkie. I was just an idiot, I didn’t want this. Anything but this. 

After we passed Center City, I sat there and stared at my hands, counting each crease and mark and freckle to keep my mind from panicking.. 

“You’re quiet.” He commented coyly. I wanted to hit him, but the way his voice remained shockingly playful while his eyes spoke nothing but hardness terrified me too much to attempt. Instead I fixed him with a side eyed glare, feeding every ounce of hate into it. “It will be alright, you know. But business is business.” 

“What?” I asked, confused by his tone, it was almost  _ empathetic. _ When he didn’t answer, I laughed, a hard, sharp sound that rattled my own bones. My head was already racing with plans, how I could get Nat out from under Falcone, how I could get us out of Gotham-- fix this mess. That’s what I was, a fixer, ever since we were kids. Nat was the true Narrows kid, stealing like an expert by the time she reached 5th grade, carrying brass knuckles to the bars by 11th. But I was the brain, marking store cameras so she could get what we needed without being caught, keeping eyes on who was dealing with who to predict which pharmacy would get hit next, listening to who our Dad owed money, so we could be sure to steer clear of their territory. Avoidance was my gift, staying invisible, watching, waiting. 

But in Victor Zsasz’s car, there was no room to disappear. 

“Relax, peach, we’re almost there.” He patted my leg mindlessly. I still flinched from the touch and he grinned, choosing to leave his hand there, knowing I wouldn’t have the balls to push it away. Instead I shifted slightly so only his fingers remained, but he just moved his hand and squeezed, holding on. The intimacy made my anger hotter, I could feel it burning my cheeks-- which he no doubt took as an honest blush. 

Soon we were pulling into an underground garage below a large stone building I barely saw. As he parked I noticed the door close behind us, and the other nice cars set up around the dimly lit room. 

Of course he was rich, he was Don Falcone’s right hand man. It was still fucking annoying. 

Quick as a flash he was at my door and unbuckling me, holding it open for me to get out. I did, standing with the metal door between us. My eyes scanned the room, lingering a little too long on the garage door. 

“Good luck with that.” He leaned towards me on the door with a grin. “If you run, I’ll just catch you. And trust me you would not enjoy the punishment for that kind of thing.” 

I swallowed, watching him carefully. 

“This way!” He pointed towards the elevators, ushering me inside. It was a short ride, barely enough time to brace myself in the small silver box. I inhaled and he turned his chin to look at me trying to gather my wits, I ignored him as the doors opened. 

The apartment was modern and stark, all black and white. My head hurt as I took in the lack of color, like stepping into an old movie. Sofas lined a sitting area in the middle, one long black one and two white love seats squared around a black lacquer coffee table. Large arched windows looked over Gotham to the south, with two white, tufted club chairs faced out to the view. The rest of the walls were taken up with black bookcases, each book alternating black and white in a dizzying array. On the top shelves were antique guns and weapons. I made a mental note. To the back of the vaulted room an archway led to what looked like a dining room with clear chairs and an ornate black table. The floors were black hardwood, and a black and white rug the pattern of oversize snakeskin was spread under the sofas. 

I flinched as the elevator door closed behind us. 

“Welcome to your new world.” He pushed me slightly into the center of the room, slipping his jacket off his shoulders. I watched as he meticulously hung it up next to the elevator. “Now, Sasha...” 

I turned at my name, how he’d savored it in his mouth, hating how he pressed on the  _ shhh  _ as if just to get under my skin. “Time to discuss the particulars of this, don’t you think?” 

I hugged my elbows, picking at the patch Mom had added when I was fifteen-- I’d been pushed and ripped it, warranting a new blue and brown plaid scrap on the right elbow. Zsasz just stared at me, he opened his arms as if to say,  _ well?  _

“Um, yes.” I answered, furrowing my brow. 

“Very good. I like verbal answers, don’t just stare at me like a deer in headlights.” He brushed past me, pouring himself a drink from the silver bar cart behind the further club chair. “Turn around.” 

I did slowly, raising my eyes to him again, a deep annoyance settled in me at his tone, his  _ expectation _ that I would just do as told. 

“Now your sister was in some pretty big shit with the Boss, so if she behaves you have nothing to worry about. If you behave she has nothing to worry about. Capiche?” 

He eyed me, waiting. 

I sighed, letting my annoyance show. “Yes.” 

“Yes…?” He asked pointedly. 

I stared, not knowing what he wanted. The look in his almost glare set me into a frenzy, I wracked my brain for anything that would make sense, but it felt like mush, like I could grasp but anything I tried to hold just squeezed through my fingers. 

Sighing heavily he set his drink down and closed the space between us with three steps, and I stumbled back-- not quick enough-- as he wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and gripped the skin so tight I thought my bones would snap. Idly, I was grateful my hair was tied up. His face was so close to mine I could feel the heat coming off him. For a moment, I wondered if it was going to kiss me and my stomach lurched at the idea-- I really couldn’t tell if from disgust or--

“Try.” He looked down at me. 

Through gritted teeth I said: “Yes, Mr. Zsasz.” 

“Mr. Zsasz is--well was-- my father. And he’s dead. Try again.” He tutted, a gloved finger traced down my cheek. 

“Yes, Victor.” I tried again as the finger brushed over my bottom lip, pulling it down slightly. He didn’t need to say anything as he looked at me with a face as if to say  _ really?, _ and his grip tightened. I blushed hard and my jaw tightened, realizing what he wanted. “Yes… sir.” I said, my eyes trying to set him on fire.

“Good girl.” He leaned in and brushed his lips on my temple-- not quite kissing, teasing-- before letting me go abruptly, I had to take a deep breath, staring at the edge of the carpet so I didn’t scratch his fucking face off. “Why don’t you go wash yourself up, I’ll order food. What do you like, Thai? Chinese? Ramen? I’m thinking Thai but I could go for those little potstickers right now.” 

I breathed hard and shrugged, walking back to the hallway. 

“Second door to the left.” He called and I found it, a sizable guest bedroom with an ensuite. All black and white, no color, like a twisted mime’s ideal bedroom. 

I moved into the bathroom, closing the door-- no lock, _nice_ \-- and finally exhaling when I was alone in the small white space. No windows, I noted too, a deep pit of dread settling over my stomach. The mirror showed a red faced mess, my hair flitted around my head, tied back in a mussed bun, it framed my tearstained face and dark circles. I was the prisoner of a very dangerous man. I’d never seen Natalia react like that to anyone, she was all bolts and nails, the toughest bitch I knew. But he scared her to her core. He scared the shit out of me too. I gripped the edge of the sleek sink and tried to steady my heartbeat. He’d already made clear that I had no right to personal space around him, but he invaded and retreated, not yet crossing into-- oh God-- _certain_ territory. But there was a hunger in his eyes that I’d never seen before, a directness that distracted me from my thoughts, leaving me taut in his gaze, waiting for what he’d say next. There had been men in my life, of course, some were handsome, some dangerous-- not as dangerous as _him,_ in fact most seemed like Micky fucking Mouse in comparison-- but they all served their purpose. Zsasz seemed like the last man on the planet to ever simply _serve a purpose_ , if anything I was serving a purpose for him. A dynamic I would never be okay with. 

Plus, one misstep could get Natalia killed, so I had to at least feign being okay with it, right? I could do that. I could play the long game. 

I slipped off my jeans and cardigan, then my t-shirt, waiting for the water to warm. Once I was under the spray I let out another deep, shaky breath. The hot water beat into my skin, easing my shoulders as I kept my hair from getting wet. Not needing to wash it yet, a part of me already missed my cheap mango scented shampoo, but if I lingered on little things too long I’d just start crying. If I started crying, I didn’t know if I’d be able to stop, and  _ he  _ didn’t seem to like when I cried. Instead I rotated my right arm and tried to work out the dull soreness from when he threw me into my living room window. Pain made me angry-- which made it easier to ignore the dread. 

There were a few fancy bars of soap and I scrubbed one with roses pressed in it over my skin until it felt raw. Stepping out I shivered until I found a fluffy white towel-- it was fucking  _ cold-- _ and dried myself off. I slowly opened the door to the bedroom, half afraid he’d be standing there, waiting to look at me again with those penetrating eyes. But he wasn’t, all that had changed in the room was a pajama set, shorts and a pink t-shirt set nicely on the bed. 

I found underwear next to them and slipped it on, pulling up the loose shorts and thin shirt. Why did he have this just laying around? The thought made me swallow. For a moment I wondered where my duffle was, then realized there was a slim chance I’d ever see it again. The room was bare, white sheets and a black blanket covered the bed, no window again. I returned to the bathroom and shook out my hair, finding a brush in the drawer to rake through it, there were also toothbrushes and a first aid kit. I shivered, wondering what that was for and hoped it was just in case of emergencies. Gathering up my discarded clothing I took them into the bedroom, draping the cardigan over a black desk chair and folding my jeans nicely next to it. The t-shirt was Natalia's, some rock band I didn’t know, and I laid it down gingerly, rubbing the grey material between my fingers. 

A trio of knocks sounded lightly on the door as it opened without waiting for an answer. Zsasz leaned against the frame, looking at me. “All set in here?” He asked innocently. 

“Yes, thank you.” I answered quietly, only for his naked brow to raise. Sighing, I added begrudgingly: “Sir.” 

“Good. I’m glad.” He smiled and waited at the door briefly before walking into the space with four sure steps. “This will be your room sometimes.” 

I dared not ask what he meant by  _ sometimes. _ Smiling sourly, I muttered: “It’s nice.”

“It is.” He examined me, visibly ignoring my sarcasm, as if he was filing it away for a later time. “But I’ve got some other rooms you might think are fun too.” He leaned down near my cheek, his breath cascading over my skin. I hitched my breath unwillingly. “Don’t worry, we’ll work up to things, peach.” 

I caught his eye and he smirked, raising his hand again to my face, the warm leather was smooth on my skin, teasing, as he traced my jaw again-- just one finger. 

“What do you want with me?” I asked simply, shivering but afraid to move. He was truly terrifying, there was a tenseness under his skin, like a panther about to lunge, that demanded obedience and left no room for anything else. Especially when his hand was so close to my face. 

“I don’t think I’m that obtuse.” He said. I hated how often he smiled, like everything was one big fucking joke. “In fact, I think I’m pretty obvious.”

“Sure.” I sneered, crossing my arms. “If you’re so obvious, I must be an idiot. Because I can’t think why--” I felt my anger mounting and I swallowed it down “-- why you didn’t just kill me.” 

Zsasz tilted his head and pursed his lips. “It’s been a while since I’ve broken someone, and--” He leaned down so his nose brushed against mine “-- I’ve never done it for myself.” 

I almost screamed, jerking back only for his other hand to take my bruised wrist again. “Are you fucking--”

“Now, now.” He closed the space between us again, pulling me inches from him. I winced as the fresh bruises from before were pressed in doubly. “Lets watch our manners.” 

“I could say the same for you.” I growled, only to bite my lips. I really needed to hold my tongue unless I actually wanted him to kill me. 

But he just knitted his brows together, like he was trying to untwist a corkscrew in his mind. His hand left my cheek and came and rested on the side of my head, for a moment I wondered if he was going to slam it into the footboard. 

“We’ll start tomorrow, maybe. Tonight--” He leaned back with a grin “-- I ordered ramen! Come on.” Letting go of me, he left the room quickly. For a moment I stood there, frozen in an odd fear. But something in my gut told me I didn’t want him to have to come get me again. I followed, not knowing what else to do. 

The main room was lit with a few lamps and sconces, but the night skyline made up for it. He’d set the ramen at the table-- cardboard containers looking out of place on the ornate wood. Zsasz was holding out a chair for me, nodding down to it. I slipped down and felt as he pressed the chair in gently but firmly. He didn’t touch me again, I noticed. As we sat he took off his gloves carefully, setting them down on the table. His hands were as pale as his face, and marked, rough from years of killing. I could see the tell tale of scars near his wrist, just under the starched shirt cuff. 

“So tell me, why did you major in something so… obscure?” He asked, blowing on a piece of pork. 

I glared at him and he smiled as he chewed. “I don’t know, Dad was Russian and I loved War and Peace so I decided to major in. I didn’t really think… uh… practically.” I admitted, as I had to myself many, many times before. 

Zsasz hummed and looked at my untouched bowl then back at me. I quickly picked up the chopsticks-- I’d never used them before-- and grabbed at some noodles, but my hands were still shaky, sweat making them slick and I struggled to get anything. 

“Not too good at making decisions, then.” He commented watching me struggle. It wasn’t framed as a question, just an observation. 

After finally getting a noddle near my mouth, it slipped out from between the chopstick and I watched it fall to the bottom of the broth. “I’m fine at making decisions. I’m very decisive.” 

“I wouldn’t say someone who said  _ yes _ to coming back to my house was very good at making decisions.” He chuckled to himself, I could have hit him. “But we can agree to disagree.” 

“You made me say yes.” I countered, trying to spear a piece of pork. 

Zsasz glanced at me and I looked away focusing on my dish as I plopped it in my mouth. 

Fire erupted on my tongue and I looked at him as he watched me intently. Tears were already filling my eyes, I was terrible with spice and this  _ burned.  _

“Something wrong?” He asked innocently, but the amusement behind his eyes could have sliced through skin. 

“Mhmmph!” I whined as it burned my throat. I needed milk, water, anything. My hands waved as it filled up every thought, tears streaming out of my eyes. 

“Swallow, and use your words.” He lifted a finger sternly. 

I screamed internally and swallowed the fire down, my mouth still throbbing as I opened it to let in cool air. Through the tears I caught him smiling at me and I quickly closed my mouth, realizing how depraved it looked. God, I could have killed him right there and then. My eyes raged through the tears, feeling my temper rising hotter than I was able to suppress in the name of self preservation. 

“Well?” Zsasz leaned towards me. 

“Fuck you!” I growled through the pain. His face shifted, any sign of amusement gone in an instant. 

I heaved back in my chair as he leaned in his, teepeeing his fingers in front of his chest. If he had spoken, maybe I could have brushed off the small panic in me that overtook the pain from the spice as my anger dissipated under his gaze. But he didn’t, he just stared at me, waiting. 

After a strained silence, he sighed heavily, as if an expectation hadn’t been met. I ground my teeth, unable to bring myself to say what I knew he wanted to hear. I was not that pathetic. I couldn’t be or I’d go insane. 

“Oh, peachy peach.” He muttered, before taking his gloves and slipping them back on carefully. My entire body tensed at the odd action, but I couldn’t move. “Stand up.” 

I slowly scooted my chair back and did so. “I--”

“Shush. Too late for that now.” He stopped me with one flat hand, standing up himself. 

“Please-- I won’t do it again--” I could feel tears brimming again and heard him tsk as he took my chin roughly in his gloved hand, yanking me off balance so I leaned towards him. “Please…” 

“Please, what?” He asked softly, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear as his grip tightened. 

“Please… sir…” I could barely speak. 

Quick as a flash he released me and the back of his other hand made contact with my cheek, snapping my head so hard to the side that I stumbled to my knees. A noise filled my ears and it took me a moment to realize it was my own scream, it sounded like a wounded kitten, high pitched and pathetic. My body stayed slumped next to the wall, my cheek throbbing hotly as the muscles twitched in pain. I hadn’t been hit in a very long time, and never like that. 

“Come back to the table.” He ordered dryly and I forced myself up, afraid of what disobedience would bring. 

After sitting again, he reached over and took my chin again, angling me to look at my cheek. I couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Hmm.” He bit his lips. “That’ll bruise nicely.” He murmured, releasing me. 

I was utterly fucked.


	3. A Day in The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zsasz gets started on his new project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for choking (like not sexy, just deadass choking), psychological torture. 
> 
> Generally just Zsasz being a full sadist, woohoo. 
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos! It's really nice to see :)

The next morning I stirred lazily, all the energy still sucked out of my bones, as if I hadn’t slept at all. The room was still dark, pitch black, but I somehow knew it was morning-- some internal clock remnant from college. The night before was groggy in my head, I knew we’d finished eating-- he’d let me eat the gyoza instead of the fire ramen, ode to fucking joy-- and then he’d sent me to bed. I still couldn’t shake his cool glare, watching me as I brushed my teeth and examined the hot red mark on the right side of my face. Only when I was under the covers did he bid me goodnight and leave. 

I groped around the bedside table for the light but couldn’t find it, so I just stayed in the dark, wide awake. After some convincing, I trugged out of bed and slowly went to the door, as I turned the handle it stopped. Locked. 

He fucking locked me in a dark room. 

I ran to the bathroom and that light wouldn’t work either, I flicked it violently but nothing happened. 

“Are you kidding me?” I asked the empty air. Nothing answered. I took to knocking on the door, hoping someone would hear. But Zsasz didn’t come, no one did, and my stomach growled. I hit it harder until I felt bruises forming on my knuckles. 

“ARGH!” I screamed as I smacked my open palm on the wood, resting my forehead on the cold surface. I could hear my own heartbeat, thudding in my chest like a hummingbird. 

Exhaling roughly, I muttered: “Fuck you. Fuck you, you fucking asshole!” 

I hit the door again with all my strength and yelped-- a hot pain shooting through my knuckles, finally reaching my hands limit. I couldn’t even examine the damage in the dark, I couldn’t see my hand in front of my own face. But my fingers throbbed, and I winced as I touched them with my other hand. A trickle of wet slid on my skin, I’d made myself bleed. 

Exhaustion washed over me again as I pawed my way around the room to the desk. If I could just get the door open, I could find a way out of the apartment and get to Natalia-- someone in the Narrows had to have a connection to Falcone, someone would help. But the more I pondered it, leaning against the desk in the dark, the more I doubted it. I was an outsider now, the kid that got out. No one would trust me even if Natalia’s life was on the line. Me getting away would put her at more risk than anything if what Zsasz said was true. 

I cursed him again. “Bald fucker.” 

Another quick thought brought me comfort-- Natalia was the valuable one. She was the one with a  _ skill _ . They wouldn’t dispose of her so quickly because I acted out. I’m the one they’d clock, so maybe it was worth the risk. If anything it was just my own neck on the line, and that I could live with. 

With renewed energy I grabbed the chair from the desk and walked over to the door, if I could knock the handle off I should be able to feel for the bolt, or maybe I could crack the wood and get some light in, then I could leverage the desk on the weak spot until it snapped. 

I felt for the door and positioned myself two steps out. Taking the wooden chair in my hand I brought it down, missing the door and throwing off my balance. I felt as it connected with the side of the bed, the comforter softening the impact. I repositioned, trying to get closer to the door by half a foot. The chair strained my arms as I held it up and swung down. 

Instantly I heard it make contact with the wood, only for the force to send me flying back and the chair dropped from my hands, landing awkwardly on my thigh. “AH!” I cried out, realizing quickly that I’d have yet another bruise. Giving up, I laid there for a long time. I knew the door hadn’t budged, the chair itself seemed like it was still in one piece. 

I wasn’t strong enough. The realization sunk into me like I’d just swallowed a pile of rocks and I cried. No one could see me, no one was there, so I cried, sobbed, until the tears wouldn’t come anymore. 

A few more hours past and my mouth was dry, I drank from the sink in the bathroom, but it tasted metallic, turning my stomach. 

I knocked harder on the door but stopped when my knuckles throbbed again, the crusted blood on my right hand oddly satisfying, trying the handle weakly again. But nothing changed. Was this another form of torture? Psychological torture? Was he going to starve me in this room? I’d taken a Psych class in college, I knew what isolation could do to the human mind. Was knowing better? Or did that make me more susceptible to giving into it if I understood what waited at the finish line? I tried to imagine things that grounded me. But nothing came to mind that didn’t flit away. I had snippets, the smell of Nat’s cigarettes, the wind sweeping past my old apartment near campus and the branch that my sleep deprived brain turned into a hand waving up and down and up and down and up… 

After more time passed I started to hum to myself, a song my Mom used to sing when she was cooking-- her mother always sang it, about a forest,  _ Erdő, erdő, erdő--  _ the words rolled over my tongue with ease, the Hungarian coming back to me after not having spoken it in years. The melody soothed my nerves, and I hugged my knees as I leaned against the bed behind me, I felt the bruise forming on my thigh from where the chair landed on me and I pushed at it, letting the pain keep my head clear. 

Dangerous thoughts flitted through me: What if he never came back? What if this was my punishment? To die in this room, alone? What if…

I couldn’t tell you how long it was before the door finally opened, letting in a small, blinding stream of light. I didn’t move from the other side of the bed, my chin still stuck to my knees as his figure cut into it. My muscles were taut, like they’d atrophied in place. He didn’t move for a moment, just stood there with his legs slightly spread and his hands in front of him-- or behind him-- I couldn’t tell. 

Zsasz’s footsteps sounded in the room, the pace easy and predatory, as he rounded the bed. I didn’t look up. I felt his eyes on me and frowned, I could almost sense the tilt in his head as he waited for me to do something. 

“Hey there, peach.” He greeted lightly, so nonchalantly I could have choked him. 

I turned my body away even more, letting him stare at my hunched back. 

“Aw, you’re not mad at me, are ya?” He playfully whined, walking behind me. I felt him squat down, his voice getting closer. “It was only a bit of alone time to gather your thoughts. I thought you’d like that.” 

My teeth dug into my lips as I tried to not say something rude back to him, knowing where that got me. I just had to bide my time until I could find a way to get Natalia and get the hell out of Gotham. I’d rather do it in one piece. 

A hand touched the back of my head and I flinched, but it didn’t grip my hair or force me to turn, just pet down, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. “Come on, I’ve got a treat for you.” 

I glanced over my shoulder to see Zsasz’s face leaning down towards me, he held out a hand. I turned away, feeling the latent rage brew in my belly again. His face was in an unreadable line, but his eyes were dark… expectant. How does one fight the ultimate predator? I would not become his prey, I would fight whatever fucked up thing he was doing. He would know  _ my  _ rage, goddammit. 

“Are we going to be like that?” He asked, his amusement thick. “Oh, come on. That’s no fun.” 

He blew air through his lips and tutted his tongue as he unwound my crossed arms, pulling me to standing roughly. I yanked away, squinting in the light like a caged animal. A part of me felt warranted to hiss. 

Holding his hands up he gave me a look before offering his hand again, his brow hardened and I realized I’d pushed far enough if I didn’t want a mirror bruise on my other cheek. Reluctantly, I took his hand, feeling the leather engulf my small fingers as he gently pulled me a step towards him. 

Before moving, he looked down at me with a concerned look on his face. 

“One little day in the dark does this? It’s only been 24 hours, sweet pea.” He leaned his forehead down into mine and my breath hitched. His scent filled my nose, smelling more like burning than cologne. 

“No.” I breathed. “No… sir.” The word sounded sour as I chewed it out. 

“We’ll work on that.” He released me, patting my bruised cheek lightly to make me wince. “Come on.” 

With wobbling legs I followed him out into the light, it was late day and the sun was starting to set. A shiver of fresh panic wandered down my spine as I wondered if he’d keep me in the dark everyday. My eyes took a moment to adjust, burning a little.

Zsasz sighed in the middle of the room and sat down in one of the armchairs. He motioned for me to sit across from him and I tiptoed across the cold floor. The room was uncomfortably cold, but I didn’t dare ask for a blanket. 

His eyes ran up my body as I stepped in front of the window. “Have a little tussle in there?” 

My chin snapped down to look at the damage on my leg. A long purpling welt ran across the top of my right thigh. The skin of my knuckles was hot to the touch, deep red shifting with each movement. 

“You could say that.” I answered looking out at the skyline, and he cleared his throat. I was too tired to fight it. “You could say that, sir.” 

“I’m gonna tell you this once, peach. Don’t forget it again, unless I tell you that you no longer have to use it. Don’t want to forget your manners.” He nodded to the chair again and I sat. “We never  _ did  _ get to discussing the particulars last night.” He mused, picking up a folder from the side table. “Where to begin… I guess with the basics. Sasha Astrov, 22 years old from the Narrows-- daughter of Marina and Nikolai Astrov, sister to Natalia Astrov. No other direct family.” 

I stared at him, unsure if it was a question. 

“Looks like you're up to date on doctor appointments, that's rare for the Narrows crowd.”

“There was a clinic at school, sir.” I answered and he looked up, nodding slightly. A small swell of confidence filled me, I’d spoken without being invited to. Maybe it was the  _ sir.  _

“Dentist, check.” Zsasz leafed through the papers and I strained my neck to see what he had, only for him to bend them back purposefully to keep them out of my sight.  _ Asshole _ . “But no gynecologist…” 

I flushed and looked out the window. How the fuck did he know that? Why the fuck did he  _ want  _ to know that?

“Well?” He asked again. 

“Um, I was going to book my first appointment this year,  _ sir _ .” I answered defensively. 

“Oh, don’t tell me...” He frowned. 

“No.” I interrupted quickly. “No, I have. A few times.” He raised his brow at me. “Shut up.” 

Zsasz laughed and flicked to the next page. “That’s a relief. But only a  _ few  _ times?” He winked. 

I mumbled under my breath, crossing my arms. 

“If you’re gonna speak, make it something I can hear. My imagination can run wild sometimes.” He rolled his eyes playfully. 

“I said, no need to rub it in…” Whispering “... asshole.” My head turned to watch his reaction and my cheek throbbed. 

But he remained amused and shifted in his seat, moving to the edge as he unbuttoned his sleeve cuffs and rolled them up to his elbows, revealing a number of crosshatched scars that made my breath still. “Trust me, peach, if I wanted to rub  _ that _ in, I would do it in a very different way.” 

My mouth fell open slightly in shock, I wasn’t an idiot, I knew what he meant. But he hadn’t crossed that line, I really hoped he wasn’t going to cross that line. I was insurance, nothing more, nothing else. 

Before I could do anything to gather myself he reached over and pressed a finger under my chin, closing my mouth. “You look like I just told you that I killed your childhood dog.” He teased, not leaning back. 

I jerked away finally, the spell broken. Zsasz pressed his lips and conceded, returning to his folder. 

“Ooo, look at this. Kitten’s got more claws.” He brushed my sealed juvie record in front of me. 

“Hey!” I almost yelled. “How’d you get that?” 

He swayed his fingers in the air like a conductor. “How’d you get that…” 

“Sir! Sir, okay! How’d you get that? It’s supposed to be sealed! Mrs. Wayne said--” I grabbed for it, but he held it back above his head and out of my reach. 

“Sit down and I’ll tell you.”

I conceded, huffing back into the chair. 

“I have access to everything, you know. Falcone runs this city.” He laughed. “So you stole a GCPD car and hit a man.” I wanted to bury my face in my hands and not think about the worst mistake of my life. Well, at least he was proving things could always get worse. A bright side. “Honestly, I was a little worried you were gonna be a scared kitten the entire time. I have  _ got _ to hear this story, don’t spare any gory details.” 

With a deep breath I looked back at him and squared my shoulders. “Fine. I was fourteen and was waiting outside the shop as Nat pulled the lift. Dad had gambled away our grocery money again and she had a soccer game, she needed dinner.” I wondered if he thought my logic was off, it wasn’t until I met kids that didn’t grow up in the Narrows that I realized those kinds of logical hoops were not commonplace. But that was how we lived-- go hungry if you can, because you might need the money later when you can’t afford to be. “I looked over and there were these two cops harassing this homeless woman-- Cherry-- I’d known her since I was a kid. She pointed out this guy, who had a gun, he was robbing the pharmacy and the cops just--” I shook my head in disgust “-- they laughed and one hit her. So I got mad. They’d left their cruiser door open with the keys inside. I just got in and went to get the real bad guy, but I’d never driven a car before so--” I gestured my hand out “-- boom.” 

Zsasz stared at me as I finished, a smile danced on his lips as he set his chin on his clasped hands. “So you did 3 years for that?” 

“2 and ½.” I corrected. “Sir.” 

“Hm” He sounded pleased. “And you got your GED, then went onto get the Martha Wayne Scholarship and attend miss priss pant’s alma mater. A real underdog story.” 

I scoffed, only thinking after that I shouldn’t have done that. But he was smiling, looking at the file. “Why do you have all this, sir?” I was shocked at how easily it finished the sentence. 

Zsasz shrugged. “I like to know details when I’m working on a project. Says here you have a pine nut allergy?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“I’ll have to rework my pesto recipe then.” He licked his thumb and turned the page, leaving me to start at him oddly. 

We went on like that, going through every facet of my life that could be found in a file-- from medical to school to my brush with the law-- he grilled me on the details until he was satisfied. 

Finally he closed it and stood, pushing his sleeves up again. It was odd to see his forearms when I was used to seeing him completely covered. The scars looked like inch long slices, gathered in groupings of five, some looked older than others and my mouth went dry as I realized what they were. Kills. 

Zsasz stretched and followed my gaze, he walked up in front of me holding his hands out and I put mine in them, but he didn’t pull me up. Instead he ran his thumbs over my red knuckles, making me suppress a wince. With him doing that I looked closer at the scars, a fresh one was still red, barely healed. 

“You hungry?” He asked. 

I nodded, my stomach growling loudly as if on cue. “Yes, sir.” 

“Come on, let me get you something to eat.” He pulled me up and led me to the kitchen, which I hadn’t seen yet. It was all white cabinets with expensive appliances, I didn’t know what they were called, but I’d seen the red knobs on some Food Network show Nat liked to watch-- an italian woman who over-pronounced everything. Taking a fancy black counter chair I sat and pressed my knuckles into the cold black marble for a bit of relief. 

He went to the fridge and clicked his tongue, digging around for ingredients. It felt out of place to be sitting in the kitchen as he cooked,  _ domestic _ . I watched as he slipped off his gloves, setting them on a try near a mounted phone and notepad. 

As I focused on the grain of the marble instead, his hand stole into my view and took mine again. 

“Hold still.” He murmured as he dabbed a small alcohol swab over the broken skin. I hissed but bit my lip to stop any extra sound as it stung over my already tender skin. When he was satisfied it was clean, he wrapped a skinny white bandage around them, taping them off with docter like precision. “You know, I hope this teaches you a bit of patience.” 

I looked up at him, annoyed. His dark eyes were still light and amused as he looked down at me, but he didn’t do anything else and went back to sorting through ingredients. He didn’t tell me what he was cooking, and quickly got to work, whipping around the counter and washing veggies before chopping something I couldn’t see. 

Chewing on my lip, I stopped myself from asking any questions as I stared at this back. He didn’t give me anything else to focus on and after being alone in my thoughts in the dark, I was restless. With each press of the knife the muscles of his arm shifted under his shirt, his shoulder blades moving in tandem, like he did everything with whole body. It was controlled and calculated, even in such a mundane task. 

“Is there something you’d like to ask?” He said briskly, snapping me out of my examination without turning from his work. 

I opened my mouth and closed it. Unsure of what to say. But I could feel him waiting and finally settled on: “What did you do today, sir?” 

Zsasz laughed lightly. “I was doing some digging for Falcone. Nothing exciting.” 

I nodded though he couldn’t see. “How long have you worked for him?”

“About five years.” He answered easily, tossing the veggies into a skillet with some oil. 

“Do you… uh… like it?” I was at a loss. I didn’t really want to know anything personal about him, it would make it harder to see him as a monster, he’d start taking shape as a person and  _ that  _ was dangerous. 

Glancing over his shoulder he caught my eye and I covered my internal vex. “ _ Do what you love _ , is the saying, isn’t it?” 

“So you love killing people?” I asked bluntly, my tone more judgemental than I intended. But, I mean, can I be blamed? 

Instead of anger he barked a laugh and shrugged. “Eh, it's more than that. I like figuring people out, what makes them tick, how I can use that--” he added some shrimp to the pan along with white wine “-- to get under their skin. And I’m good at it.” 

“Is that what the marks are?” 

He nodded his head. “Yeah, feels right to remember each one.” 

The room filled with the thick scent of shrimp and my stomach growled again, I touched it and leaned on the counter, but I knew he heard from the slight turn of his head. 

When he was done he pushed the plate of shrimp over rice towards me, I didn’t know the fancy name for it if there was one, but it looked good and smelled divine. 

How annoying that he was a good cook. 

“It smells really good, sir.” I said, feeling my mouth water. I hadn’t eaten since the night before. 

“Thanks, peach.” He smiled and handed me a fork. “Meet me at the table.” 

I took my plate and fork to the dining room table, going to the same chair he’d sat me in before. Though my stomach was screaming at me to dig in, I waited, an instinct that he wouldn’t be happy sounding alarms in my head. 

Soon he was setting his plate down in front of his seat, but he went back to retrieve two glasses of water, giving me one. 

When he was settled he looked at me, obviously pleased I’d waited. “Dig in, but carefully-- don't want to eat too fast on an empty stomach.” 

I nodded quickly before shoveling a bite into my mouth. It tasted heavenly, but I couldn’t quite tell if that was because he was a great cook or that I was just so fucking hungry. It took active effort for me to eat slowly, but he was right, I had to let my stomach adjust. I took a few sips of water, my eyes never leaving my plate. I was exhausted, I realized, the food settling into my gut like a warm hug. 

He was finished before I was and waited patiently until my entire plate was clean. With one last bite I hummed, satisfied and set my fork down. 

“Happy?” He asked. 

I nodded and granted him a small smile. “Yes, thank you, sir.” 

“Course, gotta keep my girl fed.” I tried not to flinch at  _ my girl.  _

We wandered into the living room and he sat on the main couch, stretching his arms out. I strolled around looking at the books, all classics and some in languages I didn’t know. My eyes raked over the weapon collection, but one would need a ladder to get up that high, and I saw no such thing in sight. I wondered if he decorated the space himself, almost laughing at the thought of the poor interior designer hired for that gig. 

“Something funny?” He asked, slipping his boots off and setting them near the edge of the sofa.

I looked over my shoulder and answered honestly. “Just admiring your interior design work, sir.” I hit the title with faux sternness and he smiled. If I could get him to trust me, perhaps that would lead to more freedoms, and more freedoms could mean escape, he was already lightening and it was only the second day. 

“I hope you like it, you won’t be seeing anything else for a while.” He chuckled, flicking on a TV that had been hidden in the bookcase. I went to the window and looked out at the city, not really feeling like sitting down and watching anything with him. That would be too normal, too-- easy. 

Gotham was a piece of shit, but there was a grungy beauty to it, the miles of towers and dim lights. I could almost smell the soot and spilled liquor. It must have been Saturday at that point-- I thought, it’d been a Thursday when all hell broke loose-- and a part of me ached to dance, to get drunk. Get lost. At least in a club I could forget the world. I’d never been good at joining in, always on the peripheral where it was easy to observe. Growing up it had been easier to remain in the shadows, unseen and unheard. Even in college when I ventured out with my little gaggle of friends, I’d been the one to sit and watch, only joining occasionally. I would have given anything to get that chance again, to sway and scream and feel the bass thud through my sweating body. Instead I was trapped in the deadliest man in Gotham’s apartment, still stuck behind the window, watching. 

Hands appeared above my head on the glass and I felt him behind me, caging me without touching me. My breath hitched, but I didn't move. I’d been so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn’t even heard him get up. I couldn’t help but look at his hands, bare and close for the first time, covered in little scars. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” He asked lightly. 

I traced a building’s outline with my finger. “About the future and about the past.” I said quietly. 

Zsasz leaned his chin down on top of my head and I felt his body move closer, touching mine just barely. “Are you afraid?” 

“Yes.” I didn’t need to think about it too much. I didn’t have the energy to lie. 

Quick as a whip his bare hand traced down the side of my jaw and I shivered-- caught-- as he continued down and drew little circles on my throat. 

“Do you want me to be afraid?” I asked as quietly as I could, my focus on his thumb rubbing up and down the spot above my artery. 

He didn’t answer for a while as he continued his ministrations. “I think fear can be necessary.” 

With that his hand wrapped over my throat and I stilled my breath before exhaling shakily through my nose. But he just held it there, adding very little pressure without cutting off my breathing. I reached up to touch his arm and his other hand grabbed my wrist pulling it down. 

“No touching without permission, peach.” He cooed in my ear, making me shiver again. The sane part of me screamed to shove him off, to elbow him, bite, run. The smart part of me said to play along and growled  _ don’t you dare enjoy it. _ But I was there, present, and after so many rough handlings, the gentleness was welcome. I felt like crying, with the amount of shame filling me. I was only human, I couldn’t hate myself for being human. 

_ Right now you can,  _ my thoughts taunted. 

“Now, you’ve forgotten your manners five times today.” He chided-- though I could hear the smile in it-- his grip growing firmer around my throat. My hands instinctively went up but he was quick to wrap his other arm around my stomach, pinning them to my sides and pressing me hard against his body as he boomed in my left ear. “Let's say fifty seconds give or take.” 

And he squeezed abruptly, cutting off my air. I gasped, but nothing could get in, at first it wasn’t so bad, until he tightened his grip again and my eyes started to water, the burning in my throat hot and painful. His fingers like a vice kept and I lost track of time, my head throbbing as I screamed for air. My body thrashed against him and finally he let go, letting me fall forward coughing and wheezing. I braced myself on the window as I took a few fevered breaths. 

“We won’t forget again, will we, peach?” He asked, looking down at me sternly. 

“No, sir.” I rasped, rubbing my neck and shaking my head. “No, sir, I won’t forget.” 

“Good!” He chirped, holding his hand out for me to get up. I took it and let him pull me to standing, he examined my face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that had spilled. “You took that like a champ, maybe you’re a natural.” His praise lit an unwelcome warmth in my belly and I closed my eyes, unable to look him in the eye. He just brushed his knuckles over my sore neck, then the bruise on my cheek, and I forced myself not to flinch. “Would you like to watch a movie or go to bed?” 

My eyes shot open, confused at a choice. I was afraid it was a test, one that would result in a tortious lack of air again. But he was truly waiting, and I felt drained, my head having done a million hula hoops over the day to keep myself from completely breaking down. Maybe that was what he wanted. 

“Bed, please, sir.” I sighed. 

“Okay.” He smiled again and I noticed how nice he looked when he wasn’t, you know, being a tortuous ass. 


	4. Over and Under Calculated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zsasz might have pushed too far and Sasha's had enough. How does he change his tune?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for suicide attempt. 
> 
> I've added an estimated chapter count as well since I've written 20 and have the plan to tie it up soon. Thank you for your comments and kudos, makes me smile every time I see em.

The next day I wasn’t surprised to wake up in the dark again, I stayed in the bed, only getting up to stretch my legs and feel around the dark room. 

After a longer time than I could comprehend the light flashed on brightly, and I screamed, curling into a ball, as soon as I let myself look around, it shut off again. I swallowed and went back to trying to distract myself. 

That’s how it went for many days. I couldn’t tell how many, I couldn’t tell what time it was ever. I slept when I was tired, I moved when my legs were restless. It was the same, again and again. Nothing changed or shifted and each time I thought I had the pattern down, it changed. 

The second time he came to get me after the flashing started, he let me shower as he sat in the room. I saw the remnants of my punishments were different colors, the one on my cheek was turning a bluish green while the marks on my neck were still purple and dark. I touched them tenderly and they didn’t hurt too bad anymore. Even if each breath for the first day after was one of pain. The water felt good and I washed through my hair, being gentle with myself. My head permanently hurt by then, my thoughts were jumbled and fuzzy. They danced meanly between too frantic and utterly silent, a confusing twist that left me sobbing randomly in the dark. 

After I was clean I wrapped myself in a towel and walked into the room. Zsasz laid on the bed reading a magazine of some sort. He glanced up and grinned, nodding to the closet with his chin. I found a new silk short and cami hanging, both black. Sighing, I slipped the shorts on-- he did not provide underwear but I was too afraid to ask-- and keeping my body faced to the closet I let the towel fall to pull the cami over my head. 

He would cook for me, we’d eat, then he’d ask if I wanted to watch a movie or return to bed. The second time I picked a movie and he put on  _ Finding Nemo _ , which made me cry so hard I started hyperventilating on the white loveseat. Thankfully, he never made me sit next to him. The touching became less and less too, it was a brush there, a hand on the head or chin, always with the gloves between. Then back to the dark room. I lost track of time, sometimes when he brought me out it was daylight, sometimes night. I gave up trying to see where the moon or sun was to gauge anything. 

I felt like a ghost. I couldn’t be eating enough. I was jumpy and weak. It was hell. Consciously, I understood. Break me down to the barebone. Then build me back up. But I was determined. I was not going to fall prey to Stockholm Syndrome. I knew what it was, I knew what he was doing. That meant I could stop him? Right? Even my thoughts were quieter. My body buzzed when he opened the door, letting in the soft light that was neither accosting like the random white lights of the room, nor suffocating like the dark. 

Soon I was craving the small touches he granted me, savoring them, wanting to stab myself each time I had to stop from sighing after his thumb ran down my bruised cheek. 

The next time I was allowed a shower, the bruise on my cheek was all but gone, nothing but a dim yellow shadow remained, and the ones on my neck were also close to faded. I wondered how long it’d been, but couldn’t even count how many times he’d left me and come back. I scolded myself, I should have done something to count. It was too late, of course. 

“Peach.” He whispered in my ear as I laid on top of the covers, I grumbled, having been something akin to sleeping. “Come on, sleepy head.” He pushed my shoulder over so I was on my back, opening my eyes to him leaning over me. The lights were on, but dimly and he was grinning with a sharky secret behind his lips. “You’re pretty cute when you’re tired.” 

I felt that familiar warmth in my stomach as he pushed my hair back with his gloved hand. 

“Come on, let's get some breakfast in you.” He sat up and the bed shifted, I followed slowly. 

After breakfast-- a simple omelet and orange juice-- he came up behind me and rested his chin on my shoulder. I didn’t flinch anymore when he touched me. 

“Now, you look like you need some serious vitamin D.” He teased, taking my fork and eating a piece of my remaining omelet. I didn’t move to look at him as he stood again and took my plate, cleaning up. He was always very clean, meticulously so. There was never anything out of place, never a dirty dish, nothing. 

Late on the comeback I tested the waters. “I could say the same for you, sir.” 

He laughed in a short burst, looking back at me. “Come on, follow me.” 

I got up quickly and followed close behind him, he was still in his black suit and docs. The most comfortable I ever saw him get was when he unbuttoned his shirt and slipped off his boots. I wondered blandly if he even owned lounge clothes. 

We passed my room-- as I’d come to think of it-- and a few other doors, one was open slightly and I saw an office inside. I guess even hitmen needed to do paperwork sometimes. The other three doors were closed. At the end of the hall was a metal door and I watched as he slipped his glove off and pressed his thumb into the scanner. It clicked and opened, letting a waft of fresh air fill my lungs. 

Zsasz turned back to me and grinned, ushering me out before him. I stepped onto the cooling patio stones and inhaled the scent of Gotham. 

Almost instantly I felt like crying, like screaming and running. Instead I walked carefully to the center of the large patio, looking around at the black table and chairs, there was a fire pit with a modern outdoor couch. I had the weird image of Zsasz hosting a barbecue-- the main event being burning someone alive. 

“Nice, huh?” He touched my shoulders and I jumped, almost thankful at my body’s response. Zsasz on the other hand, noticed and squeezed, almost too hard. “You’re doing great, peach.” 

I didn’t know what he meant, but I hummed and moved to step away from him. He let me, releasing his hands. I thought about my sister, about the Narrows, and tried to gauge which direction we were facing. Spotting Wayne Tower I turned the opposite direction to see if I could spot them, tucked under the bridges. I didn’t see it, but I knew it was there, it was like everything in my past. There but fading, dissolving into the wind of memory. I don’t know who I’d be without my past, or the future I’d planned. I’d had so many plans. There was no reality where they came true anymore, all that the future held was Zsasz and I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t understand what he wanted or what he was doing. How long before there was nothing of the old me left. Until I was just… just… Peach. 

My hands touched the ledge, splaying out on the grey stone. I had no control behind that metal door, in that world of black and white and dark and bright light and him, and  _ him.  _

I had nothing to lose. Without looking behind me I pushed myself up and started to lean over the edge, my breath hitching for just a moment as I stared down the drop. I let go. 

Hands dug into my waist flinging me back in the air, stealing all the breath from my lungs. I landed on top of him and felt my head connect with his chin, rattling my teeth as we both breathed hard for a moment, his arms still around me like a vice. 

I was numb as he flipped me off him, I stayed on the cold stone, not looking at him. In the corner of my eye I watched him sit up and run his hand over his bald head, staring wide eyed in front of himself-- like his eyes would burst from his head. 

“Dammit.” He cursed, hitting the pavement with his fist. I could feel his gaze move to me and I whimpered, knowing it wouldn’t go unpunished. 

He reached over and pushed my shoulder down, I let him, knowing it was over. Tsking his tongue he moved up to his knees, then swung one over my hips, trapping me under him in a straddle. I kept my head to the side, but I didn’t cry, I couldn’t feel anything, it was like a cold wind had breathed into my lung and I couldn’t even care what he’d do to me. 

Closing my eyes I waited for hands at my throat. 

“Sasha, look at me.” He said calmly. 

Without thinking I did, he hadn’t used my name since the first night. He settled on me as he took his gloves off, stuffing them into his pocket. 

“Were you trying to throw yourself off this building?” He asked, equally calm. 

I swallowed hard. “No, sir. I thought I saw something.” The lie was weak. 

“Don’t lie to me.” He lowered his naked brow. “Did you try to throw yourself off this roof?” 

“Yes.” I breathed, still not able to cry. 

Zsasz nodded and pursed his lip, thinking. I watched him as he leaned down in front of me, his bare hand moving under my head as he lifted me up to meet him, his eyes filled my vision as he tangled his fingers in my hair lightly. “You will not do that again.” 

“Yes, sir.” I said automatically. 

“I want you to listen to me very carefully.” His dark eyes vibrated with intensity, I could see the anger behind them. “You are mine. Understand?” He nodded with me, using my hair to force my movements. “You do not get to decide if or when you die. I do. Understand?” 

He let go of my head and I fell back, huffing as I hit the stone. Instead his thumb and forefinger wrapped around my chin. Barely audible, I stammered: “Yes, sir.”

“I take care of what’s mine. You need to trust me in that.” There was something in his eyes that I believed, below the intensity I could see it, trying so hard to stay away-- fear. 

The rebellious part of me inhaled, feeling stronger as his last words filtered through my mind.  _ Trust? _

“You want me to trust you?” I spat and he leaned back, surprised. “You want me to fucking trust you?” I squirmed under him, trying to push him off, but he just gathered up my wrists in one hand and I flung myself back heaving, almost laughing-- then I was laughing, I was laughing so hard I started crying, unable to tell the difference. He let me as I cursed, as I thrashed and yelled and fell back into manic fits. 

“Sasha.” He said again, this time his hand wrapped around my whole jaw and held me down until I calmed slightly. “Take a deep breath.” 

I obeyed, though I was still shaking. Finally, I said what I’d wanted to say since the first night: “I hate you.” 

“You don’t even know me.” He feigned a pout.

“It doesn’t matter. I hate you.” I repeated, not caring if he broke every bone in my body. 

“Well--” he sighed, letting go of my wrists and jaw “-- I’m starting to like you.” 

I snorted and shot back. “You don’t even know  _ me _ .” 

“We have plenty of time.” He stood and I relaxed, happy to be free of his touch and his weight. 

With just enough time to clear my head, he was leaning down and scooping me up in his arms, carrying me back to the metal door. A childish part of me wanted to beg to stay, even if it was the grey of Gotham, it was outside. It was a chance. But I would most likely never be allowed outside again. 

He closed the metal door behind him and I heard it click into the lock. 

We returned to the living room and he set me on the large black sofa. My eyes stared ahead and neither of us said anything as he lifted a blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders. It was black velvet on one side and white fluffy material on the other, encasing me in a cocoon of warmth. 

Then he disappeared to the kitchen, I smelled popcorn and heard a blender. Finally coming down from the adrenaline I shivered hard, feeling the cold soak into my bones, I tucked my feet under the blanket. 

Before long he was back with a tray that carried a bowl of popcorn and two big cups. Setting them down gingerly on the coffee table, he went to the door and slipped off his suit jacket, hanging it near his leather coat and then his Doc Martens. 

For a second I wonder if I could clobber him to death with them. 

I watched as he unlaced them carefully, leaving him in black socks, which he then also slipped off. 

Zsasz rubbed his hand over his head again, and walked over to the sofa. I eyed him as he sat next to me, rolling up his sleeves again. “You must be cold, with the adrenaline fading.” He commented, turning his eyes on me. I couldn’t sense any direct intention in them, they were willfully neutral. 

He clicked on the TV, flicking through his movie library, and picked  _ Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,  _ but the original one with Gene Wilder. 

“This movie always makes me feel better.” He touched his chest in an act of sincerity. “Come here.” His arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me close to his side until I was nestled with my head near the crook of his neck and shoulder. My folded legs pressed against his and he pulled the blanket over his leg to keep me enclosed, warming my shaking body with the heat from his. I thought about struggling away. I did. But… after however many days of being alone, untouched, beaten, starved even-- I couldn’t will myself to. 

Fuck it, I was weak. 

With his other arm he reached forward and put the bowl of popcorn in his lap, then handed me the drink, adding a red and white reusable straw. Feverishly, I laughed at the idea of Zsasz making an  _ eco friendly  _ choice. 

It was a vanilla milkshake, and it was good, made with some fancy small town creamery shit that had real vanilla beans. I hummed and felt him chuckle under me as the movie entered the first scene. 

His hand behind me ran up and down my side, soothing me into him as I relaxed more. “See... Daddy will take care of you.” 

I jerked slightly at the comment, but his hand was flat against my head, pushing me back into his chest and carting through my tangled hair gently. Stealing any attention away from his words. 

My eyes soon closed and he took the milkshake away, letting me snuggle closer to him until he readjusted me to be fully on his lap. The last thing I remember is the press of his lips on my forehead as sleep took over. 


	5. Did It Feel Good?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha gets bad news and acts out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW minor character death, non-con spanking, biting 
> 
> Once again Zsasz is not nice! 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, I'm really excited to share this story with ya'll.

More time passed, I’d guess about a week and a half. I’d stopped taking note of days. Zsasz was in and out, and I never saw anyone else. Someone delivered meals at times, keeping the fridge and pantries stocked, but I never saw them. It must have been when I slept. Books appeared on my bedside table, ones in my realm of interest or new bestsellers. I settled into his odd schedule. He tended to be out late, either on jobs, or with Falcone, coming home nearing 1:00 am, so he slept in and I adjusted to match. 

We existed in a rotation, living among each other, but not so much with. He was guarded and so was I, still figuring out how to navigate him after that night on the roof. I’d realized very quickly that a part of me had broken for him, I was  _ accustomed _ . Each touch or look was met with a warm feeling in my chest. It was classic conditioning-- like Pavlov’s dog. He was the only person who’d touched me since I was there, and it was an odd sensation of comfort. A tethered connectivity, which I was sure was on purpose. 

The days he was gone for long stretches, I snuggled on the couch under my blanket and watched Netflix or HBO-- of course he had everything. The city was fun to watch sometimes, and I realized how starved of stimulation I was, maybe that was the reason for keeping me in the dark-- teach me to be grateful for what I can get. 

I never stopped plotting an escape. I behaved, keeping quiet, giving him sass when he fished for it. But all I could think about was Nat-- wondering if she was being put through torture too. He never gave me news, and I rarely dared to ask. Once I brought her up to see if it would get any information out of him and he’d responded that if there was something I needed to know, I would know. That had ended the discussion. 

Most annoyingly, everyday he sat me down with a new round of questions.  _ What's your favorite color? Favorite food? Favorite movie? Favorite time of day?  _ They got more and more specific and if I didn’t answer quickly enough he’d tsk and mark it somewhere. I never wanted to find out what those marks went towards. It wasn’t until he finally closed his notebook and set it down, pouring himself a drink, that I found the courage to ask his intention. He’d grinned like the cheshire cat and said:  _ Now you can’t say I don’t know you.  _

Since I’d been good he hadn’t needed to punish me much, just three times. The first was when I was caught examining the elevator for too long, it was a slap-- but not as bad as the first one. The second was when he caught me attempting to reach into his jacket pocket to get his phone, if only to see the date. That had been an hour holding books in front of me, on my knees. I dropped them fifteen minutes in and he made me start again. My third was when I tried to open one of the closed doors next to his office, and he’d put me back in the dark for the rest of the night. I didn’t try again. 

I was sitting in one of the tufted chairs that looked over Gotham when I heard the elevator open, the silk set and my cardigan were all I was wearing as a broad man walked into the room with Zsasz. 

_ Don Falcone. _ I realized, with his pressed tan suit and permanently furrowed brow. He had an air about him like a silver cloud, calming, almost grandfather like-- but a menace underneath that couldn't be ignored. 

Zsasz walked over to me and motioned for me to close my cardigan over my chest. I did so, feeling incredibly naked in front of the stranger. The first person I’d seen besides Zsasz. 

Falcone looked at me and nodded in greeting, taking off his hat. Panicking, I quickly curtsied, then cursed myself at how stupid I looked. Zsasz, of course, suppressed a laugh. 

“Miss Astrov.” Falcone walked up to me and held out his hand. I went to shake but he held it, putting his other hand over mind. “Good to see your well.” Zsasz was lucky, I wasn’t sporting any new bruises-- not that it would matter. “I come bringing some grave news that I felt I had to deliver myself.” His eyes studied me as my mind searched for meaning, it dawned quickly. 

My heart wrenched into my throat. No. 

“I’m afraid Maroni--” 

No, no, no, no, no. 

“--has successfully killed your sister, Natalia.” He pressed his lips together and bowed his head. “I am truly sorry for your loss.” 

My knees gave out and Zsasz was on me, lifting me up with hands on my waist. 

Falcone was still speaking, squeezing my hand. “The entire workshop was blown sky high, unfortunately, there was nothing we could do.” 

“No…” I whimpered, not believing it. “Please, no.” 

“I can promise that you will be taken care of.” He patted my hand and let go, I stumbled back into the white loveseat, sitting as my legs gave out. Zsasz watched me intently, slowly stepping up to me as my vision tunneled. Nat was dead. Dead. Blown to bits. Not even a body. I couldn’t comprehend it, my mind reeled back and forth as I tried to make it feel real. I felt my own nails dig into the skin on my arm and I hugged myself. The two men weren’t there, they were ghosts-- phantoms watching me crumble. Hot tears dropped onto the hem of my cardigan, I couldn’t even feel them. Nothing mattered. 

“Sasha.” He said my name quietly and I glared up at him, he didn’t quite flinch-- but I could tell he was taken aback at the venom I felt. I was  _ angry.  _ “Sasha, would you like a glass of water?” 

Quickly I nodded, just to get him out of my sight. Zsasz walked off to the kitchen and the Don waited patiently, examining me. 

“She was a doll, I’m going to miss her company.” He commented easily and a selfish part of me flared. Had Nat been wining and dining with the Don while I was tortured by a psychopath? “She spoke of you often.” 

My nails left indents in my skin as I turned my eyes on him. His lined face gave little away-- at least what I could see through the tears-- but I had moments to act and I took the risk. “Please.” 

His brow raised slightly. 

“Please… help me.” I sounded pathetic. But powerful men could be moved to mercy by pity, right? He had a daughter if I remembered correctly. See her in me. Help me. Help me. Help me. 

Falcone sighed and glanced over his shoulder. “I wish I could. But he’s my best man, and he’s never asked me for anything. Until now.” 

My stomach shot into my throat as a new bout of sobs broke out and I covered my face with my hands. 

Without truly thinking it through I mumbled through my fingers: “Was it really Maroni?” 

When I looked at him, he was studying me quizzically. “I’m not sure what you mean.” 

“Was it him?” I shot quietly. Falcone frowned but didn’t get a chance to answer as Zsasz returned with a glass of water. 

“Here you go, peach.” He gave it to me, standing over me next to the couch. 

“I do have some other families to visit today, so I’ll have to take my leave.” Falcone put his hat back on and nodded to Zsasz. His eyes caught mine again. “Miss Astrov, once again, I am so very sorry for your loss.” 

Within a moment he was gone, the elevator doors closing. 

Zsasz patted my head, running his hand down my hair and I hated how nice it felt. My world was already a thin string, threatening to snap with one more strained stitch. Was this what it was like to land on shifted sand? It remembered that line from some song I couldn’t remember the name of. But it felt apt, I couldn’t find solid ground. 

“Do you want to be alone?” He asked simply. I couldn’t say there was pity in his voice, he didn’t seem capable of that, but there was a consciousness of the situation that felt like concern. Maybe he knew what real loss was-- but I shoved that thought aside. 

I shook my head, but stood up and wobbled over to the chairs facing out to the city. My body was slowly going numb again, shutting down to not deal. I’d done the same when my Mom died. 

He sat in the chair next to me, watching as I curled my legs up and stared out at the city. 

We stayed there for a long time, unspeaking. I listened to the emptiness in the room, only my heartbeat kept time, thudding in my chest to remind me I was still alive. 

“It’s my fault.” I whispered suddenly, needing to say it aloud. 

In the reflection of the window I watched as he leaned up in his chair. “What do you mean?” 

I sighed, new tears trickling down. I wondered how long it’d be till they were used up. “It’s my fault, it always has been my fault.” 

Zsasz nodded slowly and waited. I knew he’d press if I didn’t elaborate. 

“My Mom was killed when someone broke into our house. It was the same guy who I’d hit with the police car. He was looking for me.” I’d never said it aloud. Though Nat knew, she’d insisted it wasn’t my fault-- made me say it over and over and over again. I never believed her. “If I hadn’t run off to fantasy land, she would have never taken the Maroni job. She wouldn’t have needed to.” 

He furrowed his naked brow and sucked his teeth. “That’s a little bit of a mental hoop, don’t you think, peach?” 

Shaking my head I leaned down on the arm of the chair, letting the leather press into my cheek. I didn’t say anything else, I just sat there, starting as the city turned dark and the sky went from grey, to black, to dim clouds. At some point I must have fallen asleep. 

My dreams were filled with her. Her dirty blonde hair, always tangled and piled on her head, her mismatched t-shirts sewn together from scraps and the same two jeans she’d worn since she was eighteen. We danced around the dusty apartment to  _ Gimmie Gimmie Gimme _ , Nat loved Abba an absurd amount-- always skrelting along with their harmonies. 

I was thankful they were happy times. 

When I woke up the blanket was over me, but he hadn’t moved me. I returned to staring out the window at the grey day. Needles were prickling in my legs and I shifted, glancing over my shoulder. Shockingly, he was laying on the sofa, reading a book. Shoes off and button down slightly relaxed, open down his chest and rolled up to elbows. But I didn’t want to talk to him, Falcones face danced in my memory, after I’d asked him. He’d known what I meant. Would Zsasz have done it? Did they need to be rid of Nat? What if it was all a farce, all a trick? 

I had no reason to stay put anymore. I had no reason to do anything he said. If logic prevailed he should let me go, but I doubted he operated on the grounds of logic. 

Soon he came over to sit by me again, not speaking, but bringing his book as he realized I’d woken up. I glanced at him and he looked up, setting his book down with a metal page holder. It looked sharp. I could stab him with it. 

“Can I ask you…” I started, catching my breath. 

“Yes.” He waited patiently, folding his hands on his lap. 

My mouth went dry as I tried to force myself to say the words. “Why... am I still here?” 

His look hardened in confusion. 

“I-- I was insurance for her. She's gone. Why am-- I still here?” I repeated. 

Zsasz looked down at his hands for a moment and then raised his hand up to me, motioning for me to come to him. I didn’t, though I sat up, waiting for his answer. Annoyed, he sighed and leaned towards me. 

“I told you. You’re mine.” He stared at me, as if he could  _ will _ the words into my head. “That’s why you’re still here.” 

I shook my head. “No--” Anger burned in me, bubbling up from the grief that drowned me. “No.” 

“Peach--”

“Stop it. Stop calling me that, stop, just I-- I can’t take it!” I threw my hands up, standing on shaking legs as he watched me. “I was only here because of Nat. I was here because I thought if I didn’t listen they’d hurt her, or worse and it looks like--” my hands flew frantically around my head “-- It didn’t matter! None of it mattered!” 

My feet had a mind of their own as I rounded away into the center of the room, his gaze followed me as he stood. 

“Was it even Maroni?” I yelled, the accusation obvious in my voice. 

His face darkened as he took in what I said. “I did not make that building go boom, peach.” 

I could have clawed his eyes out. “Did you kill her?” He was silent. “Did you?!” 

“I would never take credit for someone else's work.” He growled. 

I laughed, screamed, growled back, it all sounded the same. “Show me your arms.” 

That took him by surprise, and he scoffed, crossing them. “No.” 

“Because you did it!” I screamed. “Which hatch is my sister, huh? How many others died? Did it feel  _ good?”  _ I raged on, reaching for the first thing I could find-- a decorative dish-- and threw it at him. He dodged with ease as it shattered on the floor behind him, still watching me like a shark about to swallow whole. “You fucker!” I threw something else-- a coffee table book-- then whatever I could get my hands on. “You killed her! You killed her!!” 

Zsasz stood still as I wrecked what I could get my hands on. Books flew to the floor, I smashed a vase and flipped over a table, screaming all the way. 

Finally, pissed at his stillness I went up to him, all sense of self preservation gone. I shoved him and he didn’t move, I hit his chest, my hands balling into fists and he stayed put like a goddamn wall. “Let me go, you fucking psycho! You murderer! You--” 

I slapped him. Watching as his head snapped to the side, then I slapped him again on the other cheek. I went to do it again, screaming. “I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!!” 

His hand caught my wrist in a crushing grip as I saw the burning anger wash over his face. I hadn’t seen that look yet, but I didn’t care. I  _ wanted  _ him to kill me, to try, to  _ prove  _ he was the monster I knew he was. 

“We’re done.” He growled. 

Hot fear shot through me but I wordlessly snarled back and yanked away. His face was impassive as he easily threw me over his shoulder and with zero consideration for my well being he carried me. 

I kicked his stomach once and he dug his fingers into my ankles with his other hand until we were in the dining room. Confused, I stilled for a moment before he threw me on the table, my shoulder and head made contact with the wood and I grunted as I awkwardly landed on my side. 

Zsasz was already yanking my legs down and flipping me fully on my stomach. I raked at the table, trying to get away until his gloved hand wrapped around the back of my neck and pressed down. 

“I would advise you don’t move much, or it’ll just get worse.” His voice was lower than ever before, raspy, and filled with a cold rage that sent shockwaves into my base animal instincts. “Hands above your head.” He ordered, pulling my cardigan up over my arms without care, discarding it out of sight. 

The cold air hit my skin with just the silk set to cover me, and I shivered hard, fear palpitating like a second heartbeat. 

If he was going to kill me, it wasn’t going to be quick. 

When my hands were above my head he repositioned them to be crossed at the wrist, then yanked me down so my legs dangled off the side of the table and my skin rubbed against it harshly. My toes barely touched the floor. I felt him kick my ankles out roughly so my legs were left spread. With his other hand still on my neck I was forced to stay staring out at the main room, my cheek warming on the wood and tears raining enough to make it slippery. But there was nothing I could do, one flick of his wrist and I was dead. Earlier I’d been so ready to just dive in and die if need be, but when faced with it-- 

“Now, I had very different plans for tonight. But I guess this will have to do.” He muttered as I felt his hands pull down my shorts, I gasped, biting back a plea. His voice went from unpinned anger to light joy as he said, “lets see how bad this peach can bruise.” 

The first hit rocked me so hard I screamed, my pelvic bones pressing into the hard edge of the table. It lit a hot fire through my bottom and throbbed in the absence. I could feel the handprint rising on the skin. 

Two more followed soon after, both reverberating through me as I screamed and thrashed, the fourth was right on top of the first and my vision turned black for a moment. But he wasn’t done. “Stay still.” He whispered, his hand tightening on my neck and I nodded as much as I could, hoping it would stop. 

Again-- and I screamed so loud my throat burned. Again. Again. Again. Again-- My mouth just stayed open, constant streams of tears coming as I could barely make noise any more. 

I couldn’t tell you how many times he spanked me, how many times his hand connected with my flesh, at one point I thought I felt the trickle of blood, but it might have been sweat, it could have been anything. 

Finally, a few seconds passed without another but I didn’t dare let myself breathe yet, thinking he was just playing with me the way a cat plays with it’s food. 

His hand left the back of my neck, and I shuddered at the cold air hitting my sweat slicked hairline. I couldn’t move, my legs were numb, my hips felt battered by the table, and I couldn’t even think about the throbbing pain in my ass. My eyes tried to focus on anything else, but they kept blurring in and out. 

Almost gently, he wrapped his now bare hand around the front of my throat, and pulled me up so I was flush against him. I cried out as my bottom made contact with his pants, whimpering as he wrapped his arm around my waist to keep me upright. My legs shook until he pressed up, holding my whole weight. I could feel every curve, acutely aware of him, of his body, his heat, and the pain. 

His voice was hot in my ear as his lips brushed against my head. “You are mine. Do you understand?” 

I shook again and whimpered, closing my eyes hard. 

“Good. You did well…” He added some more pressure to my throat, his thumb running up and down the side. “My good girl.” I concaved as something inside me spasmed, once again hissing at the pain as I accidentally rubbed against him. “But--” I waited for the fingers to tighten into a vice “-- But Daddy is still very,  _ very _ pissed.” 

I was afraid to talk, to move, to even breath as he nuzzled at my hairline, moving down to my shoulder. I felt him kiss my beating skin and involuntarily shivered. Until I felt his teeth press into me, and bite down,  _ hard.  _

A fresh, guttural scream ripped from my lungs as his teeth dug into my soft skin. Quick as it started it was over, and he licked the indent before returning to my ear. “Let's get you to bed, okay?” 

I nodded as his hand trailed down my front, leaving my neck cold again. He turned me around, still holding me up, and propped me against the table by my lower back. I couldn’t meet his eyes as his hands encompassed the sides of my head and tilted me up to look at him. 

I must have been a mess, bright red eyes, cheeks flushed, lip trembling. I felt his lips press into the top of my forehead before he spoke again. 

“Wrap your arms around my neck.” He ordered and I obeyed instantly, leaning into the warmth of him. He lifted me up, gripping my thighs below the beating on my ass. I wrapped my legs around him as he held me above his hips and carried me out, resting my chin on his shoulder and fading into his neck. 

When we arrived in my room he gently laid me down on my side and went into the bathroom. I didn’t pay much attention to what he was doing when he returned. 

“Turn on your stomach.” He said and I did, too exhausted to fight anything, not wanting to fight anything. Zsasz leaned down next to the bed, sitting on his heels as he looked at my face. “Open your mouth.” He slipped a small pill into my mouth and I let it dissolve on my tongue, not caring what it was. 

I blinked hard, amazed that I had any tears left. 

“Don’t you feel just a little better?” He asked with a small smirk. “You let go, gave in.” His hand brushed down my hair onto my back and I felt whatever drug he’d given me go to work. “Well, peach?” 

I swallowed as I felt my head swim. He was right. When it was happening I didn’t have to focus on anything, the world didn’t exist, it was just him, just me, just the wrenching, palpitating sensation-- I could breathe a little easier than before. 

Barely audible, I finally conceded. “Yes... sir.” 

“Good girl. Go to sleep, peach.” He stayed there in my vision until it blurred again-- not from tears but from something else deep inside until nothing existed anymore but black. 


	6. It's Bi-Monthly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor hosts an orgy with some familiar faces.

I didn’t dream, the drug made sure of that, I just floated in a pool of fluff-- there was no pain and no worry, just bliss. But my head started to throb as I came to, only to realize it wasn’t my head that was throbbing-- it was a bass note, vibrating through the room. 

Music. I could hear fucking music. On my stomach, I rolled over to my side, feeling the edge of the cover brush against my bottom. “ _ Fuuuuuck,” _ I winced, feeling a fresh jolt of burning pain shoot through my ass. Carefully, I stood up, testing my weight on the floor. He’d left the dim light on and I was grateful not to wake up in the pitch dark. 

Lavender caught my nose, mixed with a mintiness and floral note I didn't have the class to recognize, and I looked around-- on the bedside table was a jar with fancy french words scrawled on it. It was used, and I realized that he’d applied it to the damage on my butt. 

Unwillingly, I warmed at the gesture-- only to catch myself.  _ He _ did it in the first place, you crazy bitch.

My shorts had been forgotten in the dining room and I slowly walked to the closet, hearing voices outside. Lots of voices, and-- oh no-- moans, grunts, loud music. I didn’t want to know, though curiosity pulled at me. In the closet was a simple silk shift, black, and a note was tied to the hanger. 

_ This’ll be easier than shorts, come out when you’re ready- V. _

I rolled my eyes and took off my cami, going into the bathroom to assess myself. My eyes were no longer red and my hair flew around my head like a thorny crown, all gnats and tangles. I raked the brush through it, unfazed by the pain. It distracted from what was actually going through my head, Nat’s body--burned to a crisp in front of me. 

What drew my eye the most was the bite mark on my collarbone, it was deep, though he didn’t break the skin. I touched it and winced, wondering how long it would be there. It helped me from wondering about anything else, especially how I’ll miss a proper funeral. Could I even afford it? Would Falcone even let one happen? 

Taking a deep breath I turned around and examined my bottom, it was completely bruised in a deep purplish black that reminded me of a black hole. I touched it and flinched, the tenderness stinging. Quickly, I brushed my teeth and rubbed my face. 

The slip was cold as it washed over my body, not hiding the bite mark with the thin spaghetti strap. Sighing, I went to the door and started to open it. 

More voices filled the space as two people-- one with some kind of full head mask-- passed by me. The woman was dressed in all black, a tight material that hugged her entire body. 

“Hey, doll.” She purred as they passed by and she tutted the masked man’s bottom. I watched them go and slowly followed into the main room. 

I was about 97% sure I had just walked into a full blown orgy. 

People were everywhere, some kissing each other, others drinking and talking, and almost everyone was naked or dressed in some kind of fetish gear. I don’t think I’d ever seen so much latex and leather in one place. One woman in the corner was laying back as three others kissed her, with a blonde woman between her legs. 

I wasn’t a prude, but-- Jesus Christ. 

The elevator opened and two people walked in, stripping off their coats to reveal latex mini dresses, I watched as the doors began to close, envy riling in my stomach. 

“Hey, peach!” Zsasz’s hands snapped on my shoulders from behind, making me jump. “Get enough sleep?” 

I turned my head to look at him and he was smiling wide, a glassiness in his eyes.  _ Is he drunk?  _

“Yes, sir.” I answered slowly, confused. 

“Oh, this couldn’t be avoided. It’s bi-monthly.” He shrugged, laughing at the look that fell over my face. His hands turned me around and he rubbed up and down my arms. I made the mistake of looking down to see he was wearing a silk robe, open, with nothing underneath. 

My eyes shot up and I twisted up my mouth, an awkwardness filling me like an overflowing bucket. Zsasz chuckled under his breath and patted my cheek as he leaned in to croon in my ear: “Don’t be afraid to look. I’m not shy.” 

I screwed my eyes at him and inhaled sharply, he grinned again and reached around to grab his glass of dark liquor off a side table, taking a deep sip. 

He also picked up a little white pill, taking it between his teeth before washing it down with another swig. My eyes widened again and I worried at my lip, making his eyes sparkle. I’d never experimented with much other than a few puffs of weed. It made my stomach flip with curiosity. 

“We can play with those at a later date.” His eyes sparkled, leaning towards me, I didn’t move as he brushed his nose against mine, his dark eyes encompassing my view.

“Turn around, I want to see my handy work.” He twirled his finger and I rolled my eyes but obeyed. 

His cold fingers made me gasp lightly as he lifted up the edge of my shift, I saw a few of his guests glance at us, but everyone else seemed to be busy among their own partners and revels. He whistled and I felt his finger, cold from holding his drink, run down one side of the bruises, making me tense and hiss out from the odd sensation. 

“They’re pretttty.” He mumbled, really  _ sounding _ drunk for the first time. “Come on, I want to introduce you to some people.” He let the shift fall back into place and wrapped his arm around my neck, walking me towards the center of the room. “Everyone! This is Peach!” 

A cacophony of “Hey, Peach! Hey girl! Pretty girl! Hiya hon!” Sounded as everyone looked at me under his arm. 

I rubbed my elbow as he walked me to the woman in the corner, she had a strip of red in her coiffed hair and was drinking a martini as the woman between her legs kept at her work. I averted my eyes as he swung me around in front of him, his arms wrapping around my neck from behind. When he pressed his thighs into my ass I suppress a whimper as the pain flashed again, his fingers rubbing my shoulders to distract me. 

“Fish, this is Peach.” He said. Her eyes scanned me with unimpressed intensity. 

Fish, I knew that name. Fish Mooney? Fucking Fish Mooney? The Fish my sister almost got killed? That Fish? I swallowed as her lips danced into a smile. 

“Hello there, sweetheart.” She sighed. “Victor…” She elongated his name like she was scolding him. “She looks like a lost kitten. You should have warned her.” 

Zsasz laughed again in my ear, I could feel the rumble of his chest and I flinched-- which Fish eyed curiously-- but I smiled softly, leaning back towards him if only to have an anchor. His warmth was nice, I couldn’t deny that. 

“She’s good at adapting.” He praised me, his nails lightly running down my right arm. “Catch ya later.” He pulled me away only to glance over his head. “The umbrella boy here?” 

Fish hummed yes and closed her eyes, her other hand wrapping into the woman’s hair between her legs. 

Zsasz pulled me away, he made me say hello to a few others-- someone named Butch who had a kindness to him but was too busy between a woman and her masked companion to say much-- and a woman who’s name I forgot as soon as she opened her mouth to revel a row of sharpened teeth. 

As my mind whirled, he pulled me into the dining room and we were somewhat alone. My eyes rocketed to the edge of the table from the night before and I felt my knees buckle. 

“Peach?” He asked, concern lacing his voice as he rounded me and held my shoulders. But vision was blurred and I felt my breath coming quickly in and out and in and out and I couldn’t get enough air. The memory of a hit rocked me and I gasped, beginning to hyperventilate. “Hey, hey, hey--” He took my face in his hands turning me up to look at him. “Breathe, you’re okay, you’re safe.” The words sounded odd coming out of his mouth, but something in his directness calmed me down and I felt my heartbeat settle again. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” I sputtered, trying to hold in tears. He cocked his head to the side and pulled me into his chest, holding me against him. I barely remembered he was completely nude under the robe. Barely. 

“No need to be sorry.” He said easily, with a lightness in his voice, his hand trailing down my back. “You’re a hell of a lot stronger than you think.” 

“Ha, ha.” I muttered weakly into his skin. 

“Get a drink, relax. I’m going to go join in on the fun.” He said into my hair. I backed away as he let his arms gently fall and he brushed my check with his knuckle. “Oh, there he is. The umbrella boy.” 

I followed his gaze to the other side of the room where a man-- or boy-- sat in the corner distinctly out of sight of the main room. His black hair was spiked over his forehead and he eyed us over the top of a book.  _ The Idiot.  _

“Come on.” Zsasz pulled me around the table towards him. “Mr. Cobblepot.” He greeted, drawing out the name warmly, and my heart dropped. 

“Oswald?” I whispered as he dropped the book, his familiar face far more angular than I remembered. I felt Zsasz tense beside me. 

But Oswald kept his face annoyingly neutral. “Well, well. If it isn’t the girl who got out.” 

I blushed hard, his tone obvious and cutting. 

“Noooooo way.” Zsasz said. “You two know each other? That’s-- well, isn’t that something.” His arm tightened around my neck. 

Oswald glanced at him and then at me. “Of course. Sasha and I go way back.” He set his book down and pressed his thin lips together. I noticed his nice suit, far nicer than he should be able to afford. 

But I could tell Zsasz was not happy, he squeezed my arm again as Oswald took in my slinky nightgown and his eyes landed on the bite mark on my shoulder. I tried to shift so I was hidden under Zsasz’s arm, but he let go and trailed his hand down my back instead before gripping my waist. 

“Why don’t you get a drink and catch up.” He patted my bottom and I barely suppressed a yelp. “Don’t worry, he won’t touch you, will you, Cobblepot?” He stepped away. “You sure you don’t want in? We’ve got everything. Big Richard  _ really  _ lives up to his name…” He clapped his hands together and drew them out to emphasize what was no doubt, a massive dick. 

“No!! What makes you think-- I would--” Oswald said through gritted teeth. “No, thank you.” 

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “And keep your hands to yourself unless you want to lose ‘em.” 

Before I could shoot him a look he trotted away, his robe flying out around him as he re-entered the fray to welcoming shouts. 

Oswald chewed on his lip, staring at me. “So is this how you grieve? In the arms of a lunatic while my poor Mother has to find out from  _ me _ that Natalia is no longer with us?” He asked with a fake smile, his tone bitterly harsh. I went white and felt my shoulders fall. 

“Fuck off, Ozzy.” I muttered turning on my heel and looking for something to drink. Preferably a whole bottle of vodka. 

I could hear him get up behind me as I spotted the littered makings of cocktails on the sidebar, taking a cup that looked clean I grabbed the open bottle of Grey Goose and filled it half way only adding a few ice cubes and a splash of something yellow that smelled like juice. I didn’t really care and started drinking, relishing the familiar burn as the booze went down my throat. 

“You and  _ Zsasz _ ?” He asked incredulously. “How long has that been a thing? I mean I know your judgment is shaky at best, but I also know your type and he is… not it.” 

I stiffened and choked on my drink slightly. Panic. What did I say? Was I supposed to tell him? _Hey, yeah, so this guy took me prisoner when Natalia got scooped up by Falcone and now I’m just like his-- uh-- well now I’m his fucking pet or something, I don’t even know. But I’m working on it. I’ve got a plan._ Any plan I had Ozzy would find stupid beyond belief, if only to prove me wrong. I decided to lie. 

“It’s new.” I said, finishing the drink with a wince. 

Oswald scurried closer to me as I poured more vodka into my cup. “Do you let all your male-- men friends-- do that?” 

I felt his eyes on my shoulder and I shrugged, non-committal. Feeling Zsasz’s eyes on my back. “I didn’t take you for a prude, Ozzy. Or did you forget that I know your type too.” 

“Ha, ha.” He sneered. “I never let any of my callers do  _ that, _ Sasha.” 

I turned around, looking out over the party. Which was a mistake as my eyes immediately landed on Zsasz as he began to kiss a thin man in some kind of intricate harness, his hand on the other man’s throat. His other hand was wrapped in a woman’s hair as she kissed under his robe and I felt my face heat up instantly-- but I chalked it up to the booze. 

Turning back to Oswald, I asked: “Wait, what are you doing here?” 

He smirked quickly and leaned on the sidebar. “Well someone had to make money instead of flying off to play act at becoming a  _ scholar.  _ We all didn’t get a second chance, not that it looks like you did much with it!” He clapped his hands in front of himself as I raised a brow, waiting. “I work for Fish Mooney.” 

“That’s new.” 

“Not really, I’ve been able to work my way up quite a bit since you vanished.” He corrected me. 

“Well, good for you.” I drank down more, relishing the buzz in my stomach. “So, who brings a book to an orgy?” 

“It’s not like you're participating.” He shot back, the same defensiveness from childhood still hot and ready. 

“Well, I wasn’t aware I’d be waking up to one.” I said jokingly, only to bite my lip. 

Oswald stared at me, trying to suss out what I meant. “You’re a really bad liar.” 

“Stop.” I dropped my voice, glancing back. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Stop.” 

“What are you doing here?” He smiled tensely. “This isn’t your crowd, they’ll eat you alive.” 

“Ozzy.” 

“I thought you just--” He waved his hand dramatically, his voice raising slightly frantic “-- ran off after Natalia got picked up by Falcone. Do you know how many people I had looking for you? But no,  _ Sasha _ only thinks about Sasha. Mother was worried  _ sick _ when she couldn’t get a hold of Nat--  _ sick! _ ” I pushed him behind me, my finger to my lips praying he’d quiet down. He calmed his face. “So was I.” 

I winced and without being able to stop myself asked: “How long ago was that?” 

His entire demeanor changed as he opened his mouth, scoffing. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“How long has it been since Nat… since she was picked up by Falcone?” I stared at him, my eyes darting back and forth from the living room. But Zsasz was occupied, with yet another woman. The harness man was behind him now and I turned away, the look on his face was pure bliss. 

Oswald pursed his lips. “A little over a month.” 

I felt the air leave my lungs in a rush. A month, that was somehow longer than I expected and yet shorter than it felt. Oswald could have told me it’d been six months and I would have believed him. The time in the dark room felt like a year. 

“Ozzy, we were friends, right?” I asked, suddenly urgent, taking his arm. 

“Uh, we  _ were.  _ Past tense is the correct form of that.” He started to walk back to his hidden chair, ripping from my grip, well out of view of the orgy. 

I followed him, looking over to see Zsasz staring at me, the same woman from before was hunched over the loveseat, screaming and moaning as he thrust into her. He winked and I looked away, blushing harder. But my eyes trailed back, his body was-- dare I say-- impeccable. Each muscle was sculpted as if from marble, only disrupted by the speckling scars. Perhaps it was the two vodkas in my empty stomach, but I didn't stop my eyes from raking over his chest and down to the sharp v right at his obliques, wishing for a moment I’d had the guts to look before--

“Oh,  _ God. _ ” Ozzy muttered, settling into his chair. “You’re actually attracted to him.” 

I turned back to him, opening my mouth to argue. But he was right, whether it was the mindfucking or not, I was. His hungry glare set off a fire in my belly that could have burned down Pompeii. Weakly, I countered: “He is objectively an attractive man.” 

Oswald snorted and grabbed his drink from next to the chair. “You were going to use our previous friendship to goad me into something.” 

I finished my second drink and cleared my throat, feeling the familiar warmth rush up my neck. “I’m not here of--” I winced “-- my own volition.” 

Confusion spread on his face for a moment as his dark brows knit together, then understanding dawned on him. “Oh.” He took a drink. “ _ Oh. _ ” 

“Yeah.” 

“That is unfortunate.” 

My eyes went back to Zsasz, his head thrown back in ecstasy. He was unburdened, his mouth open in a snarl of pleasure. He was distracted. I moved behind the wall to stop myself from looking. “Help me.” 

I watched as he calculated his next words. “I heard a rumor that Zsasz got himself a new toy.” 

A dark chuckle bubbled out of me. “Sealed and approved by Falcone himself.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“I asked him for help. He said no.” I answered plainly. The absurdity of the situation swirled amusement in my gut with help from the vodka. I felt insanity creeping closer and closer with each passing minute. 

Oswald nodded his head as he processed. “Have you--” He waved his hand vaguely. “You know?” 

Instantly understanding, I shook my head. “No-- no. It hasn’t gone… there.” 

“Hm.” He stared at me. “But it has gone there—“ he pointed to the bite mark “—and whatever made you yelp like a strangled pup earlier.” 

My hand immediately went to cover my bottom and I eyed him down. “He doesn’t like when I act out.” 

“He’s a fucking sadist, Sash.” Ozzy droned. “Like a self proclaimed sadist.” 

“I’m aware.” 

It was his turn to look around, to make sure we weren’t being listened to as he said: “Do you have a plan?” 

“No.” I looked at the ice in my cup, mixing with the remnants of yellow liquid. 

“Well.” He finished his drink and rubbed his hands together. “I--” 

“What?” 

“It’ll be hard to go against the Don.” He stood, walking back to the sidebar and I followed. Dropping his voice he leaned towards me. “But if you can get out of here, I can get you out of Gotham. I’ll have to pull strings but I can do it. For old times sake, then we’re done.” 

A new bursting light of hope set off in my chest as I tried to hold in the cheer in my throat. But  _ I  _ had to get out of the apartment. I could do that. I could find a way. “Okay. I can do that.” 

“Good.” He poured me another and we returned to our corner. I only looked up once to see Zsasz on the sofa with the harness man again, lazily kissing as others stroked them. His eyes glanced up and found mine, I couldn’t help but smile slightly-- a forgotten politeness mixed with lowered inhibitions. To which he kissed the air and laughed. I almost expected him to beckon me. 

“Stop ogling the man who kidnapped you.” Ozzy cursed, setting into the corner again, I could see in the tell tale slant of his mouth that he was starting to feel his own drinks. 

“I’m not ogling.” I argued weakly, suddenly craving touch. I shivered and leaned against the side of the table. An idea lit in my mind. “ _ It’s complicated.”  _ I said in Hungarian. 

He raised his brow and answered. “ _ Just promise if I get you out, you won’t come running back like some Stockholm victim.”  _

_ “I won’t. I’m not that pathetic.”  _ I scoffed. 

“ _ We’ll see.”  _ Ozzy teased. 

A few hours and many drinks later, only a handful of guests lingered. Zsasz had his robe back on, closed, and was ushering the final few to the elevator. Only Fish, in her own robe, and Oswald remained. I was drunk, my head swam with giggles and turning floors. If I walked for too long I stumbled. Zsasz found this entertaining as he returned to the loveseat and sat comfortably. Oswald and I were in the center of the room-- where the coffee table usually sat-- mumbling back and forth in Hungarian. 

It’d started as planning my escape, but had shifted into reminiscing mixed with mini battles. We could never just talk, it was always an argument. Fish lazed her head back, commenting something to Zsasz if we got too erratic. Always with a slurred  _ Victor.  _

Soon we were singing. I couldn’t remember how it started, just that the words were falling out of my mouth like raindrops. The same song my Mom would murmur with Gertrude on rainy days as they sipped schnapps and sewed together. We circled each other-- incredibly off key-- trying to keep up with the words and each other's cadence. Ozzy jumped on the long sofa, near Fish and stomped his feet to the rhythm as I climbed on the other loveseat, balancing on the arm.

“You’re gonna fall.” Zsasz teased, relaxing deeper into his seat, his legs spread wide. 

I grinned wildy at him and stepped again before my foot slipped and I tumbled down, landing on my ass. A cry rang from my throat, much too loud for any normal fall as Ozzy sprung over to help me. As his hand wrapped around my arm, Zsasz was there, behind him and guiding him away. 

“Don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you.” He said lightly, leaning down to help me up. 

“Victor…” Fish crooned again, her brow furrowing. “Would you like to explain?” 

“I think it’s about time we turn in, don’t you think, peach?” He pulled me to my feet and I nodded, a wash of sobering fear rolling over my limbs. 

Fish took the cue and stood, rocking her hips as she went to the door to retrieve her heels and coat. I could feel her confused eyes on me. 

Oswald followed, glaring at Zsasz as he passed. “Bye, Sash.” 

“See ya, Ozzy.” I said quietly. 

Fish pressed the elevator button and turned back to us grandly, her fur collar framing her face like a 20s movie star. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Victor.” 

“Till then.” He bowed his head slightly and followed her to the elevator, watching them get in. I caught one last look at Ozzy as the doors closed and he nodded-- just slightly. 

Zsasz pressed his thumb into the keypad, locking it, before he turned back at me. I shivered suddenly, wondering what punishment he’d come up with, thinking only of the pain. 

His sure strides closed the space between us and I didn’t flinch back. 

“Finally.” He murmured, running his hands up and down my arms, his nose pressed into the side of my head and I leaned into him. I couldn’t ignore how my breathing deepened, speeding up with excitement. He smelled good, the hint of cologne covered by his sweat as he rocked his body into mine. His hands moved down my back, brushing over my bruised bottom and I gasped. 

“Sir…” I groaned, not sure of what I was going to say. 

“Hmm.” He kissed my hairline and then my ear, taking the lobe between his teeth for a moment. “Tell me how you’re feeling.” 

I could barely focus through the haze of booze and his touch, lightly running over the pain-- his finger slightly pressed into the center of one cheek and my mouth opened in a silent cry. It didn’t hurt exactly, it was mixed with an intent of pleasure, confusing me further. 

“I-- I feel--” I stumbled over my words as my forehead pressed into his neck and unconsciously I touched my lips to the space between his collarbones, right at the base of his neck. His hand was quickly in my hair, pulling me back to look at me. 

“Use your words.” He ordered with a knowing smile. 

“Hungry.” I whispered, hoping he understood my meaning. 

His head moved from side to side, pleased with himself or me, I couldn’t tell. “What is it you want?” 

I pulled against his grip towards him, my eyes landing on his lips for a moment before I could stop them. But Zsasz didn’t miss anything and leaned his head towards me until he was meer inches from my mouth. 

I opened my mouth slightly, feeling the pull of the damned and wanting nothing more than to dive into it. I was fucking spiraling, and I couldn’t stop. “Sir…” 

“Call me Victor.” He loosened his hold in my hair and watched me. “Now, ask permission.” 

I swallowed, my hands coming to rest on his chest. “Can I, Victor?” Saying his name felt odd on my tongue and buzzed in my nerves like fire. 

“Yes.” He whispered as I closed the space between us, pressing my lips into his. He stayed still at first as I explored, and as I moved my hands over his neck and hugged him, pulling him down, he awoke. Taking control he leaned into me, opening his mouth and I followed. Soon my bottom lip was caught between his teeth and he bit down, eliciting a moan from deep in my stomach. I didn’t have time to recover as he reached down and hitched my legs up around his hips, driving me back around the sofa to the bookcase. 

I shuttered and whined as the cold wood came in contact with my bruised bottom, but I was too distracted by his hands roaming up and under the shift to pay much attention to it. 

“I would take you right here, peach.” He groaned into my neck as I gripped his back, half wanting him to. But his hands stilled and he moved back looking me up and down. I wanted to reach out to him, I wanted all of him-- but stopped myself knowing I had to wait for his cue. I didn’t move as he pulled my shift back down and ran his eyes over me, even if my mouth formed a small pout at the loss of warmth. “You look so pretty, all hot and bothered.” 

His hands wrapped around my face as he pulled me into another deep kiss. 

I didn’t remember anything else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get ready for the smut
> 
> posting 2 chapters today since i've been traaaash at updating!


	7. A Pretty Scar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smut to ensue
> 
> tw in chapter notes at the end, please heed the tags and turn back if you're not 100%

The next morning I woke up in my bed, the covers mussed next to me. I touched the pillow, realizing he must have slept in the bed with me. Panic filled my throat as I tried to tell from my body if anything had happened. The bedside table had a glass of water and a pill on it, I took the pill washing it down quickly as I stood on shaky legs. For blacking out I should have felt worse, but there was no headache, only a grumbling in my stomach. 

I washed my face and brushed my teeth, looking at myself in the mirror. 

“What is wrong with you?” I asked myself, but I didn’t have a good answer. 

The living room was surprisingly clean considering what had happened there, and I looked around the corner to see if he was home. 

I found him in the kitchen, back in his usual ensemble, cooking. 

“Mornin’, peach!” He greeted cheerily as he poured me a cup of coffee. “How do you feel?” 

“Not as hungover as I should be, sir.” I answered, sliding into a counter chair. 

He grinned. “I told you, it’s Victor from now on. You earned that one.” 

“Victor.” I nodded as he handed me the coffee. 

“And that’s because I made you drink two big glasses of water and take an Advil before passing out. The sweet stuff will get you.” He patted my shoulder and returned to the stove. 

“Thank you-- sir-- uh, Victor.” I said, almost afraid to say otherwise. He cocked his head over his shoulder and smiled at me, understanding my hesitance. 

“So, what do you remember?” He asked, flipping the omelette in the pan. 

I sipped my coffee and wracked my mind-- a flash of a kiss, hands on my sides, the burning scent that stuck to him like sap to a tree. “Uh-- It all kinda blurs after Ozzy left.” I swallowed. “Did we...?” 

“No, trust me, you’d know the next day if we did.” He said and I shivered, the warmth from the night before returning full force in my abdomen. “You were--” He slid the eggs onto a plate and carried it over to me, his eyes dancing “-- prettttty needy.” He pressed the word with his tongue and gestured for me to eat. 

“Oh.” I blushed, picking up the fork just to have something to do with my hands. The urge was still hot in my fingers, and I cursed myself, trying to calm my breathing as he came up behind me. His hands took the counter on either side of my arms and he nuzzled his head into the side of mine. 

“Eager.” He breathed, his voice husky. “It was hard to stop. But I want to make this very clear.” He took the fork from my hand and set it down before his fingers dug into my wrists and pulled them up to my body, pressing me back into him as he hummed. “When I do fuck you, you’re going to be completely aware of what’s happening and you’re going to beg for it.” 

I inhaled hard and turned my head towards him, feeling my whole lower half contract. “And when will that be, Victor?” I asked breathily, I couldn’t force myself to feel fear over the intense desire he’d placed in me like one puts a ship in a bottle. And he smiled, seeing every flick of my lips, each emotion I tried to hide underneath. 

“Soon as I want it to happen.” He kissed my temple and I involuntarily groaned. “I kinda like you like this.” 

“Mean.” I muttered and he let go of my wrists. 

“Well, I have to get going.” He stepped back and I felt the loss of warmth. “But if you come here, you can kiss me before I leave.” 

I stood much quicker than I was proud of, looking at him for the cue. He clasped his hands in front of himself and waited. On shaky legs I walked up to him and reached up to touch his face, almost afraid to go a step too far. But his eyes just watched as I cupped his smooth cheek and perched up on my tiptoes-- he did not move to make it easier for me-- to press my lips into his bottom one. Quick as it started he pulled my hand down and stepped back, leaving me standing there like an idiot. 

“I’ll be back soon.” He went to the door, slipping his suit coat on with the gun harness. “Oh, and peach, no touching. I’ll know.” He winked, opening the elevator and disappearing behind the doors. 

I leaned against the doorframe of the dining room and made a face at the silver seam that taunted me, the heat already cooling without him in front of me. What the hell was wrong with me? One drunken kiss and I turned into a pathetic little mess. I was stronger than that, I knew I was. But the way he touched me was unlike I’d ever been touched before. It was like he knew exactly what to do to get the reaction he wanted, and held back to wait it out just to watch me squirm. He  _ liked  _ that I squirmed, to the point of aggravation. 

I returned to the kitchen and ate my breakfast, leaving the plate in the sink. Feeling restless, I paced around trying to think of a way out of the apartment if only to distract myself from the fantasies that rolled around my empty head. Oswald had promised to help if I could get out. But getting out would require some ingenuity. I glanced at the keypad again and remembered seeing on some Discovery ID show a girl who used tape and hairspray to lift a fingerprint. I just needed to get my hands on some hairspray and tape and something with his fingerprint. I could do that. 

Like a traitor, my mind kept floating back to the fantasies. I thought about the way he gripped my sides, digging his fingers into me so hard it hurt-- lighting something deeper in me as it mixed with the burning arousal in my belly. It was unfair how controlled he was when I felt so out of control. 

He’d been planting the seed of such things since the beginning, I realized. Even in the diner when he so slightly pressed his gun into my lip, he wanted me then. A misplaced feeling of flattery filled me. I wondered if he would have come to find me even if Natalia hadn’t been involved, and the idea made me flinch and feel a pulse in my center-- it felt inevitable I would end up exactly where I was. Like a terrible push of fate down into the underworld, always set in motion, meant to happen to keep the balance above. 

I showered and lazed around the apartment, my mind on red alert. Two sides of me fought, the rational side from before-- arguing about strength and self respect. Then there was the other, newer me, molded by Victor-- which begged to just give into it and stop fighting, reminding me how easy it would be, how he  _ takes care of what belongs to him. _

As that danced through my head the elevator opened and he walked in, stretching his arms above his head. I smiled from the loveseat, watching as his shirt untucked a little to reveal a small sliver of pale skin. My eyes moved to his face to see splatters of blood on his cheek like freckles, and without warning-- I crashed back to earth. 

His gloves glistened in the light, but I couldn’t tell if they were too smeared in red. My throat tightened, my smile disappearing as he turned towards me. His eyes squinted in the low light of dusk. 

“Hi, Victor.” I tested, curling my knees up. He took a few steps towards me and I tried to keep my face from being obviously freaked out. 

“Waiting for me?” He asked as he came up to me. His shining hand reached out and traced down my cheek-- I could feel something sticky and swallowed. “Mondays! Right?” 

“Right.” I let myself laugh a little, it was good to know it was Monday. But he might have just been fucking with me. 

“I had a very long day, but it was productive.” 

I nodded quickly, trying-- and failing-- once again to hide the fear in my eyes. “Looks like it.” I said before I could stop myself. 

He just grinned again and pulled me up by the chin unexpectedly. “Come with me.” 

I followed even after he released me, back past my room and to another one of the locked doors. My heart stopped as he opened it. 

Inside was a bedroom--  _ his bedroom.  _ The large bed overtook one side wall, canopied in black sheer fabric and covered in a thick black quilt. Two pops of colors stood out against the otherwise hard world of black and white, a yellow throw pillow-- the color of daisies-- and a knit mustard blanket laid perfectly diagonal at the foot of the bed. Maybe his favorite color was yellow, the idea that made me want to suppress a giggle. To the back of the room was a wall of windows, looking out over Gotham, the curtains tied back in lush black velvet. The other side of the room featured a stone fireplace and two black club chairs, on top of the banister were a collection of framed photos. For some reason I hadn’t thought of him having a family, but the faces all resembled him enough, mostly the ancient woman with a patterned scarf tied around her white coiffed hair. There was also a faded black and white portrait of him-- as a child-- with two stoic looking figures. His hair used to be dark. 

Victor touched my shoulder as he passed around me, closing the door. I stood awkwardly near the foot of the bed, leaning on the bedpost as he sat down and slipped his shoes off. My mind raced as I tried to figure out what he was going to do, or what he wanted. I could feel the energy coming off him in hot spurts as if a threat lay underneath. After an agonizing few minutes, I couldn’t help myself but fill the static silence. 

“Did you kill someone today?” I asked lightly, as if I asked if he’d eaten lunch. 

Victor turned his head as he stood again, slipping off his jacket and then his gloves. “Nah. He didn’t die.” He said, walking to a valet stand in the corner and setting them on the dark wood. “But tomorrow he might. Who knows? All depends if he plays along.” 

Torture. He tortured someone all day, casually. My whole body screamed to  _ run,  _ but I fought it. I couldn’t run away in a panic, I couldn’t show him I was afraid-- he wouldn’t like that. “He wasn’t playing along today?” I couldn’t stop myself from continuing to pry, something about his casualness calmed me-- and scared me, two opposing forces that I wondered if he knew worked inside my chest to create the very tornado of emotion that threatened to throw me off the edge of sanity once and for all. 

“He wasn’t. A tough cookie. But sometimes the tougher they are the more fun it is to-- you know.” He mimed stabbing the air. 

“Yeah.” My throat tightened. 

Victor came up to me and led me through a door to his ensuite, flicking on the light. I shivered as my feet touched the cold tile and he leaned into my ear. “I had fun and that’s what counts, right?” 

“Right.” I answered quickly, wanting to turn to him but he circled around me pulling a vanity seat out from under the white marble counter. 

“Help me with this.” He sat, touching his bloodstained cheek. I hesitated for a moment too long. “That wasn’t a request, peach.” 

My feet moved next to him and I opened the drawer to find a washcloth. Wetting it under warm water I started to scrub the dried droplets from his pale skin, realizing they ran all the way down his neck and up to his scalp. He closed his eyes, his hand brushing up the side of my leg under my shift as I worked. 

I thought about how vulnerable he looked, letting me dig into his skin to get the blood out until it turned a sweet shade of pink, and it stirred the heat inside me again. His hand running up and down my thigh didn’t help quell it, and I gasped slightly as he pressed into my bruised bottom with his fingers yet again. 

“Stop that.” I teased, swatting his face with the washcloth. He just grinned and hummed, licking his lips slightly. When his cheek was clean I rinsed the white cloth watching as the pink water disappeared down the drain before grabbing another to dry him. “All done and good as new.” Testing my luck I reached out and brushed his cheek with my hand. 

His eyes lazily opened and he pulled me to his lap, his other hand coming to guide my thighs open so I straddled him. I was careful to keep my hands to myself until told to do otherwise, but I watched him intently. 

“You’ve been a good girl.” He murmured, causing a flash of heat to shoot up my spine. “Good girls should get rewards.” 

Without further warning his head buried into my neck, at first it was kisses, and I leaned my head back, letting myself enjoy the tenderness. Then he started nipping-- these were not the playful nips of a rough lover, he bit to mark, sucking hard on the skin until I cried out. My collarbone, then the flesh above my left breast, digging his teeth into the skin as if he was going to consume me. I gasped, my voice running more and more ragged, which seemed to egg him on further as he held me there, his hand raising to fist in my hair and arch me back. I didn’t expect the soft lovemaking of any kind, but the pure  _ pain _ he inflicted amid the fog of pleasure was unparalleled to anything I could have imagined. 

It was only when his hand snaked under my shift and brushed the inner skin of my thighs did I moan. The bastard didn’t even have to touch me. He chucked into me as he licked his last mark, pulling away to examine his work. 

He dropped me, letting me fall backwards onto the tile floor with a thud and I winced hard, my ass barely starting to heal. I let out a huff and stared at him, wanting to scream at him. With my eyes I ask,  _ that was my reward?  _

Victor smirked and stood slowly, stretching his arms up. As I huffed with annoyance, he walked around me and took me by the hair roughly. He started dragging me. “Wait!” I yelled, grabbing at his wrist as I tried to scramble along with him. “Victor!!” 

His grip released as he dropped me by the side of the bed. I looked around, pushing myself into the cover hanging down behind me like a scared animal. With shining eyes I glanced up at him, tears already running down my face. 

“Come here.” He patted his thigh, he was maybe three feet away from me but the distance was impossible to my eyes. “One… two…” He began to count, a Cheshire cat grin on his face. 

I hustled forwards, realizing those numbers would account for something. My head stayed down at his knees as he stopped his count. 

Reaching down he lifted me up by the arm gently, his brow furrowing as he looked over my face, his fingers brushing the bite marks peppering my skin. “I’m going to have some fun with you, peach. Take off your slip.” 

I took the edges in my hands and lifted it up over my head, he took it from me and walked away-- folding it and setting it on top of a dresser. It was the first time I was naked in front of him and suddenly I felt self conscious. But one flick of his eye told me not to try to cover, so my hands stayed by my side. Without a hint of hesitation he took in my body, clasping his hands behind him as he walked around me, again and again. I watched him, feeling the cold air prick my skin, raising gooseflesh on my limbs. . 

Each time he passed behind me, I held back a flinch. It was the fourth time when his hand wrapped around my neck and dragged me back into him, his other coming up under my left breast and squeezing. I gasped and he shushed me roughly, squeezing the pliant flesh more. As his fingers brushed over my already hard nipple, I keened my head back, trying not to make any noise as my body shook. Then he took it between his thumb and index, pinching ever so slightly-- I moaned deep in my throat. 

“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet, sweetheart? You really shouldn’t learn to listen.” He teased, moving out from behind me, his hand still on my throat, and shoving me back onto the bed. I was released and I inhaled sharply, trying to sit up. But he was everywhere at once, and from the foot of the bed grabbed my ankle and dragged me down. “Legs open, peach.” He ordered, playing piano keys on my closed knees. I obeyed, opening them just wide enough for him to yank them further and position them near the foot of the bed, leaving my knees bent. “If you move too much, I’ll tie you in place.” He raised a finger and I nodded. “Hands above your head.” My arms reacted instantly, crossing at the wrist. “Good girl.” He purred-- sending another strike of need straight to my cunt. I closed my eyes as he hummed, watching me spread out and ready, pulsing from his praise, Victor’s fingers stroked down my inner thigh all the way to my ankle, a whimper behind my teeth begged to come out, but I bit my lip. “Eyes on me.” 

I suppressed my shiver as I fluttered them open, but not good enough, he turned his stroke into a grip, pressing down into the flesh of my calf. I fought my urge to move, to scream and breathed into the pain. 

“Very good girl.” He murmured, putting his knee on the bed between my legs and leaning over me, his one hand near my face to take his weight. As he stared into my eyes, taking up my entire vision, I felt his fingers brush against my cunt and bit down on my lip again to keep myself from bucking into him.  _ God, _ it had been a long time. He raised a brow and shook his head, leaning down to kiss me. I opened my mouth to let him press his tongue into mine and overtake me-- just as his two fingers slid inside me, I tensed at the sudden fullness and willed myself to relax from the stretch. 

Before I could think again he was leaning back and standing, digging his fingers deeper with a vicious curl as he used one hand to yank my hips down to the edge of the bed towards him. I wanted to scream as the pleasure built, he massaged that deep part within me with a measured ferver, watching me intently as I breathed harder and harder. 

I could feel it building, the soft flush of need bright on my cheeks as his thumb flicked over my clit and I bit down hard to keep from crying out. It was too much stimulation, too soft, too slow, too good, and yet not enough. 

“Not yet.” He pressed his thumb down on my clit. “You need to earn that.” 

I fixed a glare at him, wanting nothing more than to reach down and do it myself. But just as I was about to break, he removed his fingers, stepping back to look at me. Legs spread and cunt red, pulsing near orgasm, my face was flushed, sweat trickling down my body. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he raised his hand to his mouth and sucked the fingers clean.

“Please…” I begged softly, so close to disobeying. “Please…” 

“What was that?” He asked, leaning against a bedpost. 

“Please, Victor.” I growled, my muscles flinching momentarily. “Please!” 

“We can do another round. But remember this, if you cum without permission I’ll ruin it. Now shush, I’m trying to work.” Without another moment of hesitation he went back to work, but this time he focused on my clit, his other hand gripped my hip harder and harder with each rub or press, sending me into dizzying fits of pain mixed with pleasure. I felt myself getting close again, and groaned. 

“Do you want me to gag you?” He asked with a smile. I only groaned in response as he pressed down on me again, holding myself back. He nodded brightly and undid his tie, leaning over me and taking my jaw in his hand. He squeezed until I opened my mouth, shoving the tie in roughly. My eyes watered and I mumbled nonsense. “There we go…” He trailed his hand down to my breasts and took my right nipple in his fingers, twisting hard, I arched up, lighting sending shockwaves through me. His hand didn’t leave it’s place as he straightened again, returning to his work on my clit. 

Time disappeared as he rubbed in simple circles, always keeping the same pace. I wanted to kick him, to attack him, to pull him into me. All he did was watch as I whimpered and screamed through the tie because soon the pleasure and pain were one, a constant cycle of circle, press, circle, bite, circle, twist, circle, press, circle, bite, circle, twist, again and again and again. 

“Would you like to cum, peach?” He eventually asked. I looked back at him, having dozed into a twitching bliss some moments before as tears ran down my cheeks. His bites littered my ankle that he’d positioned on his shoulder at some point and I arched as he pressed two fingers into me yet again. I nodded, all I could do was nod. He looked me in the eye-- his own pupils blown-- picking up his speed as his fingers pressed on that spot deep inside me and his thumb swirled my clit again with no mercy. I felt myself soaring getting closer and closer to the peak. I tightened around his fingers and knew it was almost there, I moaned through the gag, my spine arching up as--

He withdrew. I screamed, feeling my orgasm fading already though my center throbbed. Victor stepped back, letting my legs fall as he walked to the side of the bed and leaned down next me, his head over mine. I was breathing heavily, my chest rising and falling as he brushed his knuckles over my sweat slicked neck and down the center of my body. 

“Did you really think I’d make it that easy?” He asked, resting his hand back on my throat, rubbing my pulse point with his thumb. “No, peach.” He jerked his down and whispered. I could have killed him. “No, I told you when you first came here that I was going to break you. Because it-- well, it is what I do.” The glee in his tone made me want to fucking scalp him, almost as much as I wanted to cum. “Annnnnd I’ve broken a piece, I think.” He squeezed my throat slightly and I groaned through the tie, making him grin and setting off a flurry of pleasurable sparks in my veins. “Yeah, a piece. But I’m a pretty selfish man, I want the whole cake.” 

I nodded, understanding what he meant. He could tell, see right through me. I still wanted out, I’d still take the chance-- I least I thought I would. He wanted me to be devoted completely. Void of any sense of self preservation, a creature that only wanted for his mean grip and control. To be his, completely. I quaked at the thought, from excitement or fear-- I couldn’t tell anymore. 

Gently, he removed the tie from my mouth and massaged the corners of my jaw as they closed back into place. I laid there, unsure what he was going to do next. My arousal was too distracting to focus much.

“Come here, come up.” He pulled my arms down and positioned me sitting in front of him like a rag doll. I breathed hard, waiting. “Look at that face.” He patted my cheek, leaning in to kiss it. “You can try begging, but I will tell you I’m pretty intent on not giving you what you want tonight.” 

“Please.” I huffed, feeling the words start to bubble from my mouth. “Please, please, please, Victor.” 

“As nice as that sounds… I think you’ll have to make a concession if you want it.” He took my chin and pulled me close to his face, I felt electrified by his touch. “Do you understand?” 

Nodding vigorously as I could, I waited to hear what it would be. Choking I could take, more spanking I could take, even more biting. I could take it, I knew. If only I could get through that and then get my cunt out of my head so I could think straight again. 

“For each orgasm, you get one of these.” He touched an old scar on his wrist and I balked, my mouth opened almost about to decline as his fingers once again went into me with a jarring thrust. “And I promise to make the first one count.” 

I leaned into him as he gripped me against his body, I could feel his hard cock against my leg and rubbed against it in return. But he pushed me down, kneeling on the bed in front of me. Before I could do anything he was hitching my legs over his shoulders and yanking my hips so far up my neck bent on the bed. His other hand wrapped around my middle as my ass was pulled flush against his chest and I felt his tongue run fully over my cunt to flick at my swollen clit, eliciting a fresh cry from deep in my throat. He reached around to take my breast roughly, squeezing and pinching the skin as he swirled his tongue over my clit quickly. Leaning back for a moment I heard him exhale, my eyes blurred but I swore I could see him smiling at me as I panted. 

“You have permission if you want it, but remember what it costs, sweetheart.” He crooned, his one hand leaving my breast to reach into his pocket. I saw the flash of the blade only for a second before I felt the cold metal press into my side, right near my breast. But I had no time to process before he burrowed his face back between my legs. I immediately felt my body contract, my inner walls spasm as I climbed closer and closer to release. His tongue pressed against my click meanly, before he sucked hard and I screamed unable to focus on anything at all. I could feel my legs vibrate, shaking uncontrollably as his tongue continued on pushing me harder and harder-- until I couldn’t hold it back. I gripped the covers in my hands, screaming through the effort. 

Finally, I leaned my head back and cried as the orgasm roared through me, rocking my entire body with sweet, velvet fire turning into rumbling smoke only to feel the sharp flash of something in my side-- I couldn’t focus as another bought of lighting swelled and made it’s wake in my core. The shocks left me limp and satisfied, open mouthed, staring at the ceiling as he leaned back, kissing my inner thigh and dropping my hips on the bed. 

Victor wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned down at me. I felt like laughing, like screaming, like falling asleep. Until I felt the trickle of blood dripping down my side and a sensation of burning, I went to touch it only for his hand to circle my wrist and stop me, he slowly waved his finger and stepped off the bed, dragging me with him. I barely had time to ponder the bright, bare pain on my side or the weight on my wobbling legs as he pulled me into the bathroom. His hands wrapped around my arms as he positioned me in front of the mirror. 

“Look.” He ordered. I leaned into him, not fully confident I could stand, and glanced down, my eyes caught by the red, open wound. Blood dropped out onto the white tile and I tried to recall what it felt like, I couldn’t remember the pain, just the lightning. Involuntarily my thighs squeezed together again. “So pretty…” His voice rumbled. I tried to look back at him but he caught my jaw in his hand and made me stare at it with him. 

After a few long moments, he sighed as he pushed me to sit in the vanity chair. “So...” He tilted my chin up and I looked at him, his thumb playing with my lip. “Do you belong to me? I want you to say it.” 

I eyed him carefully. He’d never made me say it out loud before, it was like a last foothold, slowly slipping away. He’d marked me, twisted me, and I dove into him with an abandon I’d never before experienced. “Yes, Victor.” I said. “I belong to you.” 

“Good girl.” I almost shook from the warm glow that came from those words. “Now sit still.” 

He put a bandage on the cut, his fingers gentle, brushing my hair lightly, his lips murmuring against my skin about how well I did, how good I was for him. I wriggled and pressed into him in return. When he was satisfied, he led me back to the bed and told me to wait. I heard the shower start, but the patter of the water lulled me into exhaustion. It wasn’t long before my eyes closed and I leaned into the yellow pillow, falling asleep. 

I really was utterly fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW. dub. con, breathplay, knife play, blood 
> 
> ngl from here on out it's just smut with a dabble of plot so bare with me 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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